Light and Flame
by AnneWithane
Summary: How far will one go for love? Haldir/OFC/Legolas
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Obviously, anyone you recognize didn't come from my imagination, but from the amazing talent that belonged to Mr. Tolkien. No infringement or offense is intended._

_Summary: How far will one go for love? Haldir/OFC/Legolas_

_Author's Aside: Movieverse for the most part, with a heaping helping of bookverse thrown in for good measure. Haldir dominates the first half of this story, while Legolas features more prominently in the second half. AU_

_Note: Certain chapters of this story have been edited to comply with FFN content policies. It is posted in its entirety at HASA._

_Thank You: To Janina, with whom I've lost touch, but you're still in my heart. I reread _Assassins_ recently, and I still think you wrote a terrific story. To Sarah, who generously agreed to answer my canon questions when she should have been giving us more Caffra! You rock, you really do, and I hope that you'll return one of these days and finish your magnificent story. Thank you, Certh, for so generously sharing your seemingly bottomless well of knowledge. You're an amazing and a professional-grade writer! Thank you, Maude, whose adorably loveable children inspire the youngest characters in this tale. And thank you, Diana – my published friend – for at least a thousand reasons both small and large, all of which, after a dozen years of friendship, I hope you know. My life would be so much duller and less meaningful without you in it. Thousands of miles may separate us geographically, yet there is practically no one in my life to whom I feel closer. We speak almost every day and you are _always_ in my heart. Thank you for indulging my lesser talent and for persistently encouraging me to go push outside of my comfort zone. ;)_

"_**Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame." ~Henry David Thoreau**_

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**Chapter 1: Arrivals and Lamentations**

_Third Age, January 16__th__, 3019_

The huntress stepped lightly through the forest, senses attuned to her prey. There was no good shooting angle from the ground, but as she cast her eyes into the canopy above her, she realized that she could get the perfect shot from a wide branch hanging over head. Noiselessly, she slung her bow over her shoulder and quietly shimmed up the trunk of an ancient mallorn. She climbed nimbly through the branches until she reached her perfect perch. When she checked to make sure that her victim was still in the clearing, she noted with satisfaction that it had not moved.

Her target stood there glowing softly in the moonlight, large and white except for the circle of color at its center. It was completely unaware of its impending doom, as she looked down upon it through a softly rustling screen of golden leaves. The quarry seemed to taunt her to release an arrow and _try_ to hit her mark. She had been on the hunt for hours and had suffered miserable luck, missing every single shot she had attempted.

_But this time will be different_, she told herself sternly. _I can do this._ She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she thought through each of the steps her mentor taught her: Sight the target, notch the arrow, draw the string, inhale a steadying breath, align the tip of the arrow just above the center of the target, exhale, relea…

"Ai!" So focused was she on her target that she was caught unaware when she was grabbed abruptly around the waist. She lost her footing and would have fallen into thin air had the arm around her waist not tightened to a mithril-strength as she was snatched backward against a wall of muscle.

Her bow and arrow clattered uselessly down through the branches to the forest floor. As she started to struggle and drew in a breath to scream, a deep voice chuckled as the arm around her waist loosened and she was turned around to face her tormentor.

Her face flushed with anger as he smiled happily down at her. She hit his chest as hard as she could with both hands, causing her to slip again upon the bark. His arms caught her once more as he effortlessly maneuvered them to a wider part of the branch where their footing was more secure.

"Haldir, you scared me!" she reprimanded as his shoulders continued to shake with mirth.

"Little one, if all targets held their place as quietly and steadily as that practice board does, you would be a wonderful shot. Unfortunately, the orcs do not tend to stand quite so still. And if one does," he added smugly as he tugged on the thin braid that kept her hair off her forehead, "there is probably another one sneaking up behind you."

"Do not be obnoxious," she scolded the older elf. "I am doing the best I can to learn what you have tried to teach me."

"And tried, and tried," he said, tapping the end of her nose with his forefinger. She glared at him, her mouth fixed in a firm line of disapproval. He grinned at her in a way that was most unfitting for an elf of his stature and age, she thought. And yet it was worth it to let him mock her a little, just to see the way his smile lit his features and his eyes glowed silver as he enjoyed a moment of levity. His reputation was that of the stone-faced leader of the Forest Guard, but with her he allowed himself to laugh. It was but one aspect of their long friendship that she treasured.

She sighed as she sat down upon the branch and dangled her boot-clad feet over the edge. "Since I have proven to be such an inept pupil, can we not agree to put an end to this ridiculous exercise? I will never be an archer. I do not _want_ to be an archer. I have no talent for it. You and I both have better things to do with our time, and I would think that with all the talk about the growing Shadow, my grandfather has more important tasks for his Chief Marchwarden than to try to make a soldier out of me."

"Isilmei," Haldir began patiently for what seemed the thousandth time as he sat down beside her, "your guardian has no desire to see you on the front lines of any battle. Neither do I. But he and I are in agreement that should the need ever arise; you must be able to defend yourself." He brushed back the curtain of hair she had allowed to fall between them and laid it gently over her shoulder so that he could see her face. His tone was softer when he continued. "Amdirben informs me that you _are_ improving, yet you seldom practice with your fellow trainees. Might I ask why?"

She felt like a petulant elfling as she looked down at the ground below, too embarrassed to meet his penetrating gaze. She thought of him, and the respect and admiration she had always held for him. And she thought of her grandparents. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had nearly lost their only daughter, Lady Celebrian, in the same attack that killed Isilmei's parents. Her father had been Lord Celeborn's grandnephew. In spite of his grief, he and his Lady had chosen to take in the orphaned elfling and raise her as their own. They had ever been as loving and kindly grandparents to her, keeping the memory of her father and mother alive as they nurtured and cared for her. She loved them so dearly, and wanted so much to make them proud. Her lack of prowess in any area was something she felt almost as a physical pain, but it was hard for her to put her feelings into words.

"They are all much more gifted than I," she finally admitted. "I feel…ashamed. I bring dishonor to my grandparents, and to you, and to anyone else who has tried to teach me."

"No, sweetling. Nothing could be farther from the truth. If my duties allowed, I would continue to train you privately so that you were not distracted by other students; but you know that there is too much trouble at the border for me to be home as much as I would like." He paused, and then sighed deeply. She looked over and saw that his gaze was focused in the distance as though his mind were still at the northern edge of their realm. "When I think of that trouble, and all of the dear ones here at home, it becomes imperative to me that all our people learn some sort of self-defense. The times in which we live are too dangerous to afford willful ignorance of the military arts."

The worry in his voice caused her to turn toward him, and it was then that she noticed the faint darkening of the skin underneath his deep gray eyes, the ever-so-subtle slump of his shoulders that most would fail to notice. But he had been a steady presence in her life for as long as she could remember, so she noticed. Her sharp eyes saw the signs of fatigue her dear friend and mentor could not obscure with his strength and carefully controlled expression. She reached out to place one hand on his forearm. "Haldir, are you all right? Are you well? I thought you were not due back for two days yet. Has something happened?"

His expression brightened as he took her hand in both of his. He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Come with me," he said with a wink. "We have visitors that will interest you."

Together they climbed down to the forest floor and he led her through the trees until they came to Caras Galadhon. She was surprised when he led her up a side staircase instead of the one toward the home she shared with her grandparents. Any visitors to Lorien would be presented immediately to the Lord and Lady, so she assumed he was taking her there. Instead, he took a less traveled path that wound around the eastern side of the city.

Haldir glanced back over his shoulder and favored her with a fleeting smile when he caught the question in her eyes. "Our guests have already spoken to your grandparents. They were assigned the east glade to rest and refresh themselves before dining with the court later this evening. I thought you would want a peek at several members of their company."

He stopped midway across a swinging bridge connecting a series of telain in two neighboring trees. The canopy was thick, but there were several breaks allowing a view of the east glade. It was a large open space ringed by mellyrn. The prominent roots of the primeval trees created small pockets of seclusion in the meadow, and it was into several of those spaces that they now peeked.

In the clearing moved two tiny figures that were busily their traveling packs underneath golden awnings erected among the protruding mellyrn roots. Their clothing was homespun, and looked as though their road to Lorien had been rough. Both of the little people had a head full of curly hair – one nearly black, the other a light red-brown; but it was their large, hairy feet that marked them as the Halflings she had heard about in stories. Until that moment, she had thought them more legend than actual beings.

She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth as the other grabbed Haldir's elbow. He grinned as he covered her fingers with his warm hand. "Periannath!" She exclaimed. "I did not think I would ever see such creatures."

"I know how fascinated you have always been by Halfling lore, so I knew you would want to see them. There are four of them in total. The party entered the edge of the Wood at dusk yesterday and was being followed by orcs. They spent the night on the border with my brothers and me until we could bring them to the city."

"Ai, Haldir. They are wonderful! They look like grown-up children." She shifted on her feet to get a better look at other figures still half-obscured by the screen of leaves. "How many others are with them?"

Haldir's expression darkened as he tightened his grip on her hand. She felt her excitement at seeing the little people fade as she saw the amusement vanish from his face and the sadness that quickly replaced it. "They arrived with four others – the Prince of Mirkwood, Aragorn son of Arathorn, a man of Gondor, and a dwarf."

Given the longstanding acrimony between their people and the dwarves, she was taken by surprise that he had led one into the very heart of Lorien. "A dwarf? Here? I thought…"

"Isilmei, they bring ill news. There will be a full council meeting later tonight, but we have already informed the Lord and Lady that the travelers set out from Imladris with Mithrandir. He fell into shadow as the company made their way through Moria."

She felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs. The wizard had sought counsel with the Lord and Lady several times during Isilmei's life. When he came to Lorien, he often stayed a month or more, and was as popular with the elflings as he was with the adults. No matter the nature of his business in the council chamber, he always made time to tell stories and set fireworks for the young. Isilmei counted a small wooden carving of a horse given to her by Mithrandir among her most treasured possessions.

As she stared in shock into the clear gray eyes of her oldest and dearest friend, she suddenly understood why he looked so tired and worried. Mithrandir's loss was a heavy blow to all those who valued wisdom and peace. She stepped forward and wrapped both her arms around Haldir's waist and hugged him tightly as she fought to hold back her tears.

He returned her embrace and pressed a kiss onto her hair before resting his cheek on the top of her head. They stood that way for a long moment, each drawing solace from the other, until her sense of duty nudged her out of Haldir's arms. "Grandmother will need help with plans for a memorial," she sniffed.

"Yes. And I must gather up supplies for a return to the border with more guards. Lord Celeborn has ordered we double our sentries."

Isilmei's forehead wrinkled with disappointment. "Will you be coming home again soon?"

"I should return within the week," he assured her. "Orophin and I will be assisting the visitors as they prepare to continue their quest." A mischievous light reached his eyes as he raised one dark eyebrow. "And based on what I saw today, you and I desperately need to spend some time on your archery training. The sooner the better."

She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him. "I suppose having you home will be worth the torture of training." Without waiting for his response, she rose on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek before turning and running swiftly for the talan she shared with the Lord and Lady.

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Far into the night the Elves of Lorien sang the praises and adventures of Mithrandir. For a time all the members of the Company listened mournfully as a chorus of haunting voices lamented the Grey Pilgrim's passing from Middle-earth; yet one by one, hobbits, man, and dwarf fell prey to sleep's insistent demands.

Aragorn and Legolas kept each other company far into the night, each sitting in silence, lost in his own musings and sorrow. Finally, even restless Estel had to close his watchful eyes, cloaking himself in slumber's warming shroud and the protection of Lady Galadriel and her people. Only Legolas found rest unattainable.

Sighing, he crept from the glade in which his companions slumbered; mindful at first not to wake them until he realized that if Gimli's snoring did not disturb them, nothing else would do so. He was unsure where his restless feet would lead him, but the winding, leaf-shrouded path eventually opened into a larger clearing. He stepped into the open space, breathing a sigh of relief at the richness of the green grass under his feet and the opening through the mellyrn through which he could see the many bright stars overhead. He wondered as he stood there admiring their stark beauty if Mithrandir now counted among their number. When he was able to tear his eyes away from the night sky, he looked around the garden and was surprised to realize that he must be standing before the famed Mirror of Galadriel. Legolas touched hand to heart and bowed his head in a small gesture of reverence toward the Mirror's pedestal before advancing any farther into the glade.

On the far side of the dell, a small stream whispered its way toward the Celebrant just underneath the shelter of the trees. Legolas was born with a fascination for water, as were many of his kind. Sometimes during carefree moments, he daydreamed of following one of the great rivers along its path until it joined with the ocean on its journey toward the Undying Lands. He sank onto a bench next to the stream and watched the water hurry along as he wished he could recapture some of that lighthearted spirit now.

So lost in thought was he that Legolas was unaware of another presence until he glanced up and saw a young elleth standing in the shadow between two trees, half-hidden by the gold cloak of the mellyrn. She appeared as though a spirit, silent and still at the edge of the glade. The light of the moon slipping through the forest's canopy caught in her fair hair and cast a halo of radiance around her. He started, disbelieving for a moment that his warrior's instincts had deserted him so completely, even in this place of serenity and peace. As quickly as she appeared between the trees, she vanished.

"Hello?" he called, not desirous of company but not wishing to be rude this first night in the Lady's realm. "Are you there? Please show yourself."

He held his breath, wondering if his adventure in Moria had left him somehow mad, when she stepped into the open. As she moved from the shadows in which she had stood enough light found her face for him to recognize her.

Earlier that evening, as the company was ushered into the banquet hall for the first good meal they had enjoyed since leaving Imladris, they had been hastily introduced to key members of the court. Standing before him in a pale blue gown with her bare toes peeking from underneath the hem was the Lady Isilmei – adopted granddaughter of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Aragorn had explained to him during the meal, in response to the unspoken question in his eyes, that she had been taken in by the Lord and Lady when her parents were killed by orcs. The young lady's father was kinsman to Lord Celeborn. That much was obvious, he realized as he gazed at her now. The thick, straight sliver-gold hair trailing down to her waist and the regal set of her shoulders were entirely reminiscent of her guardians.

What was not reminiscent was the shyness with which she regarded him. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and gestured for her to join him on the bench.

"Am I disturbing your meditations?" she asked quietly.

"No," he answered with a shake of his head. "I find sleep elusive this night."

She nodded understanding as she slowly crossed the glade to perch next to him. He immediately identified with the air of sadness that seemed to hover over her, for his own heart was heavy indeed with sorrow.

When she did not speak he allowed his gaze to return to the stream. After a long moment, her quiet voice drifted to his ears. "Had you known Mithrandir for many years?"

"In truth, yes, many years," he said. He leaned down to retrieve a golden leaf that fell at his feet. Once again he felt the landslide of his worries and sorrow settle about his shoulders as his thoughts returned to the darkness of Moria and the balrog's violent fire. He sighed heavily in hopes of releasing some of his frustration and sadness.

"Me too." When he glanced up at her he felt a surge of empathy as she obviously shared some of his feelings. "He had been visiting us since before I was born," she continued. "No matter what his business, he always made time for the elflings, and always had a song or an illusion or a game for us. I remember an afternoon – ai, I could not have been more than a dozen years old at the time. There were several other elflings with me, and Mithrandir whistled a merry little tune and the next thing we knew we were surrounded by butterflies. They perched on our fingers and in our hair – one of them even landed on my nose – until he whistled again and they fluttered off along their way. I have tried again and again but have never been able to replicate the effect."

He favored her with a small smile. "Mithrandir's heart was that of an elfling in some ways, was it not?"

She studied him for a moment before she responded, yet he found he did not mind her steady, gentle gaze upon his face. "One can be both very wise and very young at heart, yes?"

"I suppose so," he said with a quiet chuckle, "though I have yet to meet more than one being who managed it."

The whisper of a smile in her eyes vanished. "He was special," she sighed, turning her eyes toward the water.

"I do not know what will become of us now that he is fallen," he admitted hoarsely.

"How do you mean?"

"He guided us in more ways than we knew," Legolas confessed, finding it surprisingly easy to tell this stranger his innermost cares. "Despite my years in Middle-earth, and the experience Aragorn and I have gained in battle, none of us has ever faced a challenge like the one we must now confront. We are tasked with delivering the One Ring into the home of its maker while fending off the armies of Orthanc and Mordor, and preventing the Deceiver from obtaining that which he desires most."

As he continued, Legolas heard his own voice rising in intensity as he recounted the seeming folly of their mission. "There were nine of us when we started, and while we have yet to even approach Mordor's borders, we have already lost our most powerful companion. Mithrandir not only led our Company, he inspired us to bravery beyond that which we would have thought ourselves capable. Aragorn must now lead a company half-composed of Shirefolk who had never tasted the heat of battle until recently."

"Do you doubt the courage of the Periannath?" she asked without judgment.

"No," Legolas was quick to assert. "They have all shown their valor in the depths of Moria. But that does not account for the increasingly heavy burden that Frodo carries, or the Halflings' lack of experience."

"And you think that one or more of them might falter," she inferred as the dread of the situation seemed to weigh upon her.

Legolas shook his head, sighing heavily as he looked down at the golden leaves that continued to waft their way toward the ground. One broad leaf dropped from its supporting branch as though it merely gave up hope and floated through the air until it met the water's surface. The rushing stream snatched the leaf from the air, hurrying it along toward the roaring Celebrant in the distance. He felt a little as if his own heart were being carried away with the golden leaf, and felt his frustration rise like a living thing.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps it is not the Halflings that we need worry about, but one or more of the rest of us. This is a trial unlike any of us has faced aforetime. Mithrandir's wisdom provided the light that kept us from darkness." With that he raised his hooded eyes to briefly meet the worried but sympathetic blue gaze of his companion. "Without that light I fear I will stumble, and will know not how to rise again."

Though his own gaze had returned to the water, he felt her eyes linger on his face. When he glanced toward her once more, he saw tears of sympathy brimming in her eyes. A single drop fell from her long lashes and slid slowly down the graceful curve of her cheek. He felt a wave of guilt wash through him for putting such heavy concerns on her slim shoulders. It had made him feel better to unburden himself, but obviously his candor had upset her when she was already mourning the loss of their mutual friend.

"I apologize," he said as he lifted a hand to gently wipe the moisture off her cheek. "I had no right to burden you with…"

A stern voice from the far side of the clearing interrupted them. "My Lady Isilmei."

Legolas and his companion both turned to see the Chief Marchwarden striding briskly toward them. There was something in the older ellon's eyes that caused Legolas to lower his hand from Isilmei's face.

"What is wrong?" He demanded as he reached them and extended a hand to her.

It rankled Legolas that as soon as she placed her slim fingers within his grasp, the Marchwarden swiftly pulled her to her feet and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders in a most possessive gesture. Legolas was about to object, but her quiet voice stayed him.

"We were speaking of Mithrandir," she said with a sniffle.

"Come," the Galadhel said, though his tone was somewhat gentler as he looked down at her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "It is late and you need rest. I have come to see you home."

She nodded in agreement but was barely able to say goodbye before the harsh Marchwarden had hurried her out of the glade, his arm still firmly about her shoulders.

Legolas watched after them for a moment, trying to discern the reason for the other ellon's overbearing behavior. Was he upset that he had found the elleth in tears? _'Of course, she could be quite pretty if she smiled,'_ he thought. If the reason for his journey to Lorien had been less heavy, it would have been an interesting puzzle to solve, but as it was, he had too much weight on his heart to give much thought to grumpy Marchwardens and their sad maidens. With a sigh he put the encounter behind him and continued to watch the water scurry along its path, wishing it could carry him far away from his troubles.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lessons and Observations**

_Several weeks later…_1

Haldir sighed in impatient frustration as he sat down upon a large moss-covered rock. He had brought three of the Halflings into the forest surrounding the city, the result of a request they had made to Lord Celeborn, to teach them of Lorien flora and fauna. The one called Sam, who seemed to be the self-appointed cook of the group, had said it was important for him to know which plants in this part of Middle-earth were safe to eat and which were not. Merry and Pippin had cheerfully tagged along rather than continuing with the sword training that Boromir of Gondor was trying to instill in them. Only the Ringbearer himself was studious enough to stick with his lesson when the opportunity for adventure had presented itself.

When Lord Celeborn assigned him the task of educating the Halflings in forest lore, Haldir had thought it a good idea to recruit Isilmei to join him. He had taught her about their forest when she was an elfling, and she had proven an eager and attentive student. He knew that she would enjoy spending time with the little people who so fascinated her, and would be able to add her own observations to his lesson. His own thoughts were now so focused on military concerns that he did not often stop to admire the beauty of their woods during these troubled times. Isilmei, with the fresh perspective of youth and her training as a healer, viewed the forest's plants and trees in a way different from his own.

What he had planned was not entirely how the day progressed, however. Periannath, it seemed, had very short attention spans. At least in the cases of Merry and Pippin, a few brief moments of instruction were inevitably followed by several unrelated questions that veered into unpredictable territories. He had struggled mightily during their walk to maintain his patience and composure, efforts which were not aided by Isilmei's irreverent giggles whenever one of the Halflings stumped him with the variety and irrelevance of their questions.

The more focused he became on keeping his new pupils on task; the funnier she found the situation. When Pippin asked that he teach them "an elven dance" so that they would "be prepared to dance with the elven maids" at the feast being given in the Fellowship's honor several days hence, Haldir had been only too willing to turn the task over to his traitorous companion. Isilmei had been delighted to oblige, and now here he was, wasting a perfectly good afternoon watching her attempt to teach Merry, Pippin, and Sam the finer points of Elven choreography.

"No, Master Merry, not like that," she said as she turned him by the shoulders to face the opposite direction. "In three steps, not four."

Merry looked down at his feet and then back up at her. "I thought were supposed to take four steps that time."

"No, Merry," Pippin said. "She said we always take three steps in elven dances."

"Not all dances, Pip," Sam corrected. "Just this one."

"That is correct, Master Samwise," she agreed. "Just this one. In this dance, the music is gentle and it sways like a warm summer's breeze through the trees. All you have to do is count in groups of three, one-two-three, one-two-three, and so on and you will have the rhythm of the dance. Now, shall we try it again? This time without staring at our feet?"

Haldir continued to watch as she lined them up in pairs, Merry and Sam in the places of the male partners, herself and Pippin in the places of the females, and started the steps over again. Merry grumbled under his breath that Elven dances were harder than Shire dances, but Haldir's attention remained focused on Isilmei. He was impressed by the way his student had become a fine teacher in her own right. She was diligent, kind, and positive, and in truth, much more tolerant with the Halflings than he himself had been. Where teaching them had become something of a chore for him, she took obvious pleasure in their enthusiasm and in their interest in Elven culture.

As he listened to Isilmei's patient instructions, Haldir felt his own annoyance begin to ebb while his eyes followed her lithe form. Her face was lit with a warm smile as she led her pupils through the steps and the afternoon sun shone on her silver-gold hair. Simply put, she gladdened his heart. From the time she had been a tiny elfling, just learning to walk across her guardian's counsel chamber to show him her latest treasure; he had always found her smile enchanting. It reached the whole of her face, and her joy was infectious. One simply could not help smiling when she did.

So much about her had changed in recent years, he realized, and yet she still maintained the brightness of spirit and the enthusiastic joy that were a breath of fresh air to his soul. As one of the few senior members of the Forest Guard who was unencumbered with a family of his own and a long-time servant of the Lord and Lady, he had been among the first to volunteer to help them care for their ward. He had spent many happy hours with her in the forest, teaching her about their natural world. It had been duty which had prompted his initial involvement, but it was the enormous pleasure she took in even the smallest things, her excitement about each new type of plant or animal that he showed her, that fed the fondness he developed for the young elleth and kept him looking for new things to teach her.

Haldir had not known Isilmei's mother – an elleth of Imladris – well, but her father had been a ranking member of the Forest Guard and was well known to him. Haldir thought Elurin's daughter had inherited something of her father's sense of humor as he watched her beam at her pupils and laugh at their jokes. She had not, however, inherited his proficiency with weapons. As eager as she had been to absorb Haldir's forestry lessons, she had been far less willing to learn the bow and the sword, recoiling from them as though her delicate nature was offended by their existence. She was correct in her assessment that she would never be a master archer, but he was determined that she gain proficiency in the fundamentals at least.

In her attitude toward weapons he could still see her youth and inexperience, yet the figure gliding through dance steps in front of him was not that of an immature elfling. Her body was long and slender, curving enticingly in all the right places. The dark green leggings and pale blue tunic she wore did little to obscure the lean muscles of her form. The graceful effect of her movements reminded him of a young willow tree. She was an exciting mixture of elleth and elfling, poised just on the edge of her full glory. She was lovely now, he thought, but as she grew further into herself and her natural talents, she would be breathtaking.

"Haldir?" She asked, looking at with him a furrowed brow. "Are you well?"

It was only then that he realized he had been so consumed by his musings that he had missed something. "Just catching a quick nap," he lied smoothly, standing and brushing a spot of moss off the hem of his tunic. "Are we ready to proceed?"

He missed neither the subtle roll of her blue eyes nor the snicker that Pippin did not try to hide. Fortunately for Haldir, her inner goodness caused her to move on rather than to dwell on his lack of focus. "Would you help me demonstrate this next step?"

He sighed; thinking first to argue with her about the time they were wasting but quickly deciding that completing the dance lesson was probably the best way to move the party along. "Very well," he agreed as he took her outstretched hand. He relished the feel of her smooth, soft skin against his callused fingers.

They lined up in two rows, Haldir across from Isilmei and Merry across from Pippin. Sam stepped back to watch. "Watch how Haldir embraces me, Sam." Haldir found that his attention gap was now effectively closed. "It will make more sense when you dance with a partner of your own height. Perhaps you can teach others something of the elves when you return home," she continued as they began the sequence of steps.

It had been years since he had danced with his young friend as the watch schedule was not always conducive to his attendance at court functions. Whoever had taken over this particular piece of her training had done a masterful job. Due to his dawning awareness of her maturity, the sensation of dancing with her was new, and entirely welcome. With a smile he squeezed her fingers briefly as their hands brushed when he stepped past her. He took three steps toward her, and then three back. The next series of steps brought them side by side before he took her outstretched hand and turned her neatly into his arms. He felt a little chill where their bodies contacted one another as he led her through three turns to complete the sequence of steps.

Merry and Pippin had stopped dancing to watch the two elves. "Do it again, Lady Isilmei," urged Sam. "I think I've almost got it."

"Don't they look fine together, Pip?" asked Merry.

"Like something out of a story about…well, the Elves," Pippin agreed.

Haldir stopped listening to the Halflings as he and Isilmei repeated the pattern of steps. As he looked into her lovely face, he reflected upon his earlier musings. His feelings for her were definitely not those a teacher would have for his favorite student. Somewhere along the way, his fondness for his Lord's ward had grown into something more dear. His arm tightened about her waist and his eyes lingered on her lips until he heard her soft gasp. Her gaze was upon his, something both warm and surprised burning in her sky blue eyes. Roses bloomed on her cheeks in a most becoming shade of pink.

Worried that he had given away too much, and feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the awareness blossoming in his chest, he released his hold and stepped back. He bowed slightly over her hand. "My Lady," he said formally, before turning to the Halflings. "Now gentlemen," he said to bring a halt to their observations regarding what an attractive couple he and Isilmei made. "Let us continue with our lesson. Follow me."

With that, he strode off into the forest, trusting that the three Hobbits and the still-blushing Isilmei would trail behind him.

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_The next day…_

The path Isilmei took to the archery grounds wound past a small ring the Guard used for sword training. Had it not been for the two figures sparring in the center of the circle, she would have walked right by without stopping. Yet when she caught a glimpse of a familiar head of white-gold hair and the broad shoulders she was sure she would recognize anywhere, she paused. Shifting the bundle she carried underneath her arm, she stepped up to rope marking the contest ring.

Haldir and his brother Rúmil sparred within the ring as though to the death. Several of the senior Guard members she recognized, including Magolchon, Túnir, and Dagron, stood in various stances of repose as they watched the brothers practice, though it hardly looked like _practice_. The match must have been going on for quite some time for they were both disheveled and perspiring.

Something about the intensity of the combatants' movements told her that this was more than a practice match, though she had no clue as to the cause of their ferocity. Haldir was thickly built, a head shorter than his brother but solid through the chest and shoulders. His long arms more than made up for any disadvantage his shorter stature may have given him. By contrast, Rúmil was as tall as a young mallorn, lithe and long with attenuated limbs that swung his sword with murderous accuracy.

The two ellyn kept their eyes locked on each other as they thrust and blocked their way around the ring. First Haldir seemed to have the advantage, but then a ferocious counter attack won the lead for Rúmil. As their aggression increased, the pace of their movements quickened until they were both moving so speedily it was hard for her eyes to make out individual movements. It looked to her as she stood there watching them that the two engaged in a deadly, beautiful dance as metal struck metal time and again. The cold sound of blade against blade provided an oddly juxtaposed accompaniment to the obvious heat of their belligerence.

She had never seen him this way. The gentle, laughing Haldir – her good, true friend – was nowhere to be found in the lethal grace of the warrior fighting before her. The cold focus of the combatants frightened her a little, and she longed to see a warm smile return to Haldir's face. And yet she knew that her Haldir – the one who had such a sharp sense of humor and yet at the same time such thoughtfulness and gentle warmth – would not fit in this setting. There would be no place for the tender side of him in battle. For reasons she could not explain, the thought of him in battle caused a bubble of worry in her stomach, though his prowess was clearly on display as he battled his brother within the ring.

With a flurry of refined motion, Haldir had his brother on the ground with the blade of his sword pressed against Rúmil's throat. Isilmei raised a hand to her own neck as though her fingers could protect her from the cold press of unbending metal against tender flesh.

Haldir broke into a wide, feral grin as he lowered his sword and extended a hand to help his brother to his feet. Rúmil accepted the assistance, though the look on his face was still hard as the other guardmembers clapped and congratulated the brothers on a well fought match. She clapped politely as she stood there feeling entirely out of place amid the circle of masculine strength and ferocity.

Haldir glanced up and caught her eye. His expression softened and his eyes glowed liquid silver as he crossed the ring to stand in front of her. "Lady Isilmei, you came. And on time, no less," he said with a smirk.

"I was told I had no choice in the matter," she replied with a glare.

"Quite correct," he nodded in a way that suggested he was too pleased with himself for her liking. "Give me just a moment and then we will be on our way."

He walked back to his wardens and spoke with them briefly before turning in her direction. As he ducked under the rope that cordoned off the ring, he tugged his tunic back into place and smoothed a hand through his long hair to straighten it. With a playful bow he gestured toward the archery targets and smiled. "This way, My Lady."

She sighed as she joined him and walked toward the archery range. Determined not to submit quietly to another embarrassing display of her dearth of talent, she played her carefully planned gambit. "I have the most brilliant idea," she said breezily.

He looked at her and arched one eyebrow in a way that suggested he knew what she was up to. "And what would that be, little one?" he asked with fond indulgence in his voice.

She was determined to win her case. "It is such a beautiful day. A day for which we should rejoice. Therefore, let us forego practice and have a picnic along the Celebrant. I have prepared a feast." She raised the bundle in her arms as proof.

Her friend had the audacity to laugh at her. "A tempting notion, but no," he said as he shook his head and lifted the satchel from her arms. "We have serious work to do."

He pointed to a target and she stood obediently, if not willingly, in front of it as he walked over to a storage shed and collected the necessary supplies. She nervously glanced down the length of the range and was relieved to find it deserted. At least there would not be many witnesses of her spectacularly bad efforts.

Her eyes followed his movements with growing interest as he placed her satchel on the ground next to the shed and bent down to reach for a quiver. She found that she was beginning to see him in a new light and indulge in romantic notions she had not entertained since she was much younger. In recent weeks, it seemed, she had become aware of Haldir's very obvious, and very powerful, masculinity. In addition to seeing him as her dear friend, she was not able to help herself as she noticed the quick, sure grace of his body, the tightness and tone of his muscles. Within her mind flashed an image of his face when he had danced with her just a few days earlier. Before he was able to cover it, she had caught him staring at her lips as though he wanted to kiss her. The memory made her blush as much as the moment itself had, particularly when she realized that she would not mind at all if he decided to follow through on his urge.

She glanced quickly at the ground as he turned and approached her. Reluctantly she accepted the weapons he held out, but she was unable to suppress an annoyed sigh. He grinned in response and shook his head as though she should refrain from complaining. "I really do not see why I need to learn this skill," she grumped. "Why should I when I have you to protect me?"

When he frowned in response the look in his eyes was a study in tired patience at this recurring conversation between them. "Because," he explained, "if ever there comes a time when I cannot be here to protect you, I need to know that you are safe."

She scowled at his usual answer, which made him laugh.

He leaned down to select an arrow from the quiver she had dropped at her feet. "Please, sweetling?" he entreated with his most winning smile. "For me?"

She could deny him almost nothing, and they both knew it, but she was unwilling to relent just yet. "I am afraid to practice with you after what I witnessed in the sword ring." She gingerly accepted the arrow he held out to her.

Haldir's expression grew smug as he crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her.  
"You are well capable of handling a blade should you choose to do so. When I attempted to teach you the art of swordplay, your natural facility and your love of dance made you a very good pupil, as I recall. Until I told you to think of the practice stick as a blade, that is. Then you acted as though the thing in your hand tried to attack you."

She regarded the bow and arrow in her hands dubiously as he continued.

"I turned your studies to the bow in effort to give you a means of defense which would not involve the hand-to-hand combat that so offended your delicate nature. And yet you continue to spurn my efforts."

An impish thought seized her as she glanced at him through lowered lashes. "Surely there are other efforts in which you could engage that I would not spurn."

He laughed as his eyebrows floated toward his hairline in surprise. "I should sincerely like to have that conversation with you at some point, but right now, our job is to practice your technique with the bow."

"Must we?" she implored, knowing that once again, she had lost the contest of wills between them.

"We must," he nodded. "Now, show me a basic stance as you aim for the target yonder."

"I would rather pull out my own hair, truly," she grumbled.

He studied her face for a moment as though trying to determine how far she would take her foul humor. "I will make a deal with you," he finally said as a gleam appeared in his clear gray eyes, "one I would not make with any of my other students." He paused for dramatic effect. "If you hit the target three times, we will have your picnic this very afternoon."

Her smile was broad as she sensed victory. "You will put aside your duties to entertain me?"

"My Lady, it will be my distinct pleasure," he said with a decidedly wicked grin. "Now, show me how you properly string that arrow."

Feeling much happier about the afternoon's prospects, she placed the arrow's notch against the string and faced the target. She pulled the string back and waited for his command to fire.

"Turn your hips so that they are more perpendicular to the target," he said as he stepped forward and placed one hand in front of her stomach and the other at the small of her back. She noted with interest when she glanced down that his broad hands could nearly encircle her waist. He slid his hands toward her hips and she allowed him to turn her to the position he wanted. She decided that she did not mind this lesson nearly as much as she had thought she would. "Good," he said as he stepped back and appraised her stance. "Release."

So mesmerized by the lingering feeling of his hands on her hips, she was not focused on the target in front of her. She released the string and the shot veered wildly off to the right.

"It works better when you do not close your eyes," he laughed.

She blushed, having no intention of telling him why she had failed to concentrate on her shot.

"Also, the alignment of your elbows is incorrect." He stepped toward her and held up another arrow. "Again."

She notched the second arrow as he came to stand behind her and encircled her with his arms. "Your left arm should be tensed," he said as he ran his hand down the length of her arm making corrections, "but there should be some flexibility at the elbow. Not softness or weakness, but it should not be locked stiff. Like so. Yes. Good." His touches were making her lightheaded and she could feel the flush rising to her cheeks. "Now," he continued in a tone that was matter-of-fact and suggested he was unaware of the effect he was having on her, "at full draw your right forearm should be parallel with the ground, like this." His fingers rested underneath her hand, supporting her as she drew back the string. When he was satisfied with the position of her arms, he bent his head slightly forward until it was just above her own. She felt engulfed by his body, the power of his presence. "Release," he whispered. His breath was warm velvet against the tip of her ear. Her shot went wild.

"Isilmei," he said with a chuckle as he stepped away from her and calmly went about procuring another arrow. "You must concentrate, my dear."

She glowered at him, hot blood coloring her cheeks and ears. "How do you expect me to concentrate with you breathing in my ear that way? You are supremely distracting."

His smile was unapologetic as he raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Am I now?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in irritation. "I believe you _know_ that you are."

He held up the arrow. "In battle there are many distractions. Again."

She gave him a dimpled glare.

"Remember," he cajoled, "three hits and we picnic."

She snatched the arrow from his hand and turned her sights on the target with renewed determination. Quickly loading the arrow and drawing before she had time to second guess herself, she released and watched as the arrow flew away from her hands. With a satisfying thud it hit the target.

"Good," he said as his eyes glowed with pride. He bent to pull another arrow. "Again."

He stepped back to give her more room to maneuver, but she found that she missed the nearness of him. Smiling to herself as an idea occurred to her; she drew the string and fired, knowing full well that the shot would miss.

Her ploy worked. Haldir lifted an arrow from the quiver and enclosed her within his arms, smoothly adjusting the position of her elbows and wrists. "You dropped your elbow. That is why you missed." His hands guided her as she pulled the string back once more. The arrow struck the target just a few inches from the first hit. "Good!"

She glanced up at him and gave into the temptation to flirt just a bit. "One more and I get my picnic."

"Indeed." He stepped away just long enough to grab an arrow before surrounding her again. She was far more aware of the length of his body behind her, the hardness of his thigh against her hip than she was of the arrow he handed her before guiding her arms into the proper position. His right hand ran up her arm to the shoulder before coming back to support her fingers. "Strengthen your shoulder so you can support the tension your fingers place on the string."

She took a deep breath and released the string. The arrow struck the target between the other two, and she broke into a huge smile as she stood within his arms. She turned to look up at him, feeling quite satisfied with herself. None of her shots landed near the center ring, but the three shafts protruding from the practice board fulfilled his requirement.

His eyes were glowing as he quickly bussed her cheek. "Picnic," he whispered. The word brushed against her skin and caused her to shiver as he released her and stepped away.

"You shoot well, Lady Isilmei." She whirled around, caught completely unaware of another presence in their vicinity. Prince Legolas smiled warmly at her as he stood with his own bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows fletched with the amber-hued feathers preferred by Mirkwood archers hanging from his arm. Behind him, she caught a glimpse of Haldir's brother Rúmil standing at the edge of the practice field. The look on his face was dark with disapproval. When he realized she saw him, he turned around and walked quickly away.

She found her voice only when she realized that the prince waited for some sort of response. "Thank you for your kindness in not pointing out my obvious flaws, Your Royal Highness," she hurried to say as she dropped into a quick curtsy. "I have a wonderful teacher, but alas, his student leaves much to be desired."

"Never, Lady Isilmei," Haldir said quickly as he placed a hand at the small of her back. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, but felt the need to be more polite to their guest. "I have heard that your skill with the bow is unapproachable," she said. "Surely you have no need of practice?"

"In Mirkwood only the very youngest elflings had the luxury of practicing on any but living targets," he explained. "Our woods are so corrupted by the influence of Dol Guldur it is said we are born with quiver and bowstring in hand."

She tried to imagine what it would have been like to grow up in such a threatening place, but could not fathom it. "Then it is no wonder your reputation is so good. Would it be too much to ask for a brief demonstration?"

The prince looked pleased at her request, but she caught Haldir scowling at her before he composed his features into a polite mask of indifference.

"As you wish, My Lady," the prince replied with a slight bow. He removed his bow from his shoulder and shifted the quiver onto his back as he walked toward the targets and chose the one set farthest back from the firing line. In the blink of an eye he had fired three shots, all of which hit the target in rapid succession. His fourth and fifth shots landed so that there was a perfect vertical line of arrows bisecting the target.

Isilmei was stunned. "Perhaps your reputation is not flattering enough."

He smiled brightly. "Thank you."

"My Lady," Haldir said from beside her, "we should allow the prince to practice in peace."

"Of course," she said. She nodded her goodbye to Mirkwood's prince and allowed Haldir to lead her off the field. He stooped to collect her satchel of picnic supplies as they passed the storage shed before quickly leaving the archery fields behind.

TBC…

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1_The Fellowship of the Ring _film is non-specific, but according to the book, the Fellowship entered Lothlorien on either the 15th or the 16th of January in the year 3019. They leave on February 16th of the same year (_The Lord of the Rings_, "Appendix B: The Tale of Years," pg. 1208). For the purposes of this story, I have chosen to go with bookverse which gives the Fellowship a month in the Golden Wood. Also, anyone who feels like referencing page numbers should please keep in mind that my copy is electronic. I have no idea how page numbers will jive with the various hardcopy editions in circulation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Creatures and Discoveries**

(_Author's_ _Note_: Haldir says several lines in the conversation below that come directly from the book. Some of them are word-for-word, while a couple of others are heavily paraphrased. Such lines are noted, and are most definitely out of context.)

They were not on any marked trail, but they both knew their way to the banks of the Celebrant perfectly well. Isilmei seemed to have a specific destination in mind, so Haldir let her guide their path.

He tried not to scowl, but he was still annoyed. '_That show-off princeling! And Isilmei encouraging him!'_ His thoughts were interrupted by her musing voice.

"Rúmil seemed angry."

"When? After I won our sparring match?"

She shook her head as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, causing her cascade of hair to sway gently about her shoulders. "He was watching us at the practice fields. I am sure it galls a warrior of Rúmil's skill that the Chief Marchwarden wastes his efforts on such a bad archer when he has so many more important things to do with his time."

"I am quite capable of deciding how to parcel out my time, thank you," he replied crisply. "My brother has no say in the matter."

"Still, if I am the cause of discord between you, I apologize," she said as she stopped and faced him. He was about to assure her she had nothing to apologize for, but with an impish gleam in her eyes, she continued. "But I do not apologize for desiring to spend such a beautiful afternoon with my dearest friend."

He grinned as they resumed their course. As they passed by the trees, one or the other of them would allow their fingers to drift over the bark. They smiled as they felt the vibrancy of the life within each mallorn, for truly their Wood was the most glorious on Middle-earth.

Along the edge of the trees he spotted a perfect elanor blossom and bent to pick it, thinking to give it to her as a reward for her kind words. Before he could offer it to her he spotted another blossom of even more loveliness and retrieved it as well. Farther along his eyes fell on a patch of niphredil and he collected several of those flowers. By the time they reached the river he had gathered a small bouquet.

They reached the valley of the Celebrant and took a moment to appreciate the expanse of grasses and flowers that led to the river's edge. It looked as though a sea of gold flowed gently in the breeze to the banks of the silver river.

The river itself babbled happily along its course to the Anduin, jumping and splashing over rocks lying in the riverbed. Isilmei pointed with a smile to a spot along the bank just within the tree line.

He slipped her satchel off his shoulder and watched as she quickly began to unpack their lunch. When her attention was sufficiently distracted, he stepped in close behind her and wrapped an arm around her so that his bouquet was just under her chin.

She laughed as her hands rose to take them. "How lovely!"

He was smiling as he stepped around to settle the far side of the blanket she had spread.

"Thank you," she said as she continued to gaze at him with the most charming smile imaginable lighting her face. "What is the occasion?"

He shrugged as he lifted one brow. "It is a beautiful afternoon to spend with my dearest friend."

He noted happily that she was still grinning as she set out their lunch – fruit, bread, cheese, a flagon of wine and two delicate silver cups.

"What a feast," he observed as he sat down on the blanket beside her.

She lifted one gently arched brow as she filled a cup and handed it to him. "Surely you worked up an appetite fighting with your brother."

He laughed as they toasted each other and the lovely afternoon. For several moments they contentedly enjoyed their meal as he watched her watch the river.

"Have you ever seen a more perfect day?" she asked.

"The day is lovely," he agreed, "but you are too young to remember the true Summer of Lorien. It was even more glorious."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "Grandmother spoke along that line this morning. We are weaving cloaks for the Ringbearer and his companions. She must have been feeling contemplative, for she spoke both of Lorien's unsurpassed beauty in summer, and of the doom of the Elves."1

He wondered at the connection between the two seemingly unrelated topics. "Was she speaking of our immortality?"

Isilmei nodded, picking absently at a piece of fruit. "She said that while we love the world and are forever tied to it, the time of the Followers is coming. We must guide them, help them grow in wisdom, but then fade as they grow and absorb the life from which both our peoples spring."2 The light in her eyes was dimmed when she turned them to his face. "I find that a deeply troubling thought."

"What about it troubles you?" he asked. "That the time of the Elves on the bent world nears its end, or that the time of Men approaches?"

She shook her head. "I do not understand how we can be both immortal and yet fade away to nothingness."

It was the kind of philosophical conversation they had engaged in many times during her short life. "I think she meant that we will sail into the West," he surmised. "Our presence will fade in Middle-earth, but we shall remain as we are in Aman until the destruction of the world. For we do not leave the world even in death."

"That is little consolation to those left behind," she said sadly. "What good is immortality if we must spend it separated from the people and the places we love?"

He was sure she spoke of her parents. She had been too young when they were killed to remember them, and she adored her foster-grandparents, but he had seen her watch other younglings of her age with their parents and knew that she longed to know her own kin. He could not blame her for her longing, for his parents had been gone for many years and though he had been well into maturity when he lost them, there were still times when he longed for their counsel, for their continued presence in his life. His brothers shared his sense of loss, and it was one of the many things that bound them so tightly to one another. Isilmei, of course, did not have any siblings to help her remember her parents.

"Does it not bring you comfort to know that you will again see those who have gone before when you reach the shores of Aman?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she said, though she did not look convinced, "at least those who have been released from the Halls of Mandos." She frowned as she studied him, "but if I am here and they are there, then I cannot see them, touch them, talk to them, until we are together. And I have no way of knowing when that will be, especially for those like my parents who have entered the Halls. It is likely that it will be a great while before we are reunited. In the meantime, I miss them."

He frowned as a distressing thought occurred to him. "Would you like to go into the West now, instead of waiting to go when the rest of the Galadhrim depart?"

"No, for then it would be my grandparents and my friends I would miss." She gave him a rueful smile. "I cannot be happy, it seems."

He reached forward to tug at the ends of her hair as she began to pack up the remnants of their lunch. "I plan to sail West someday," he mused, "but I am not ready to go yet. There is still much to love about Middle-earth, and much to nurture and protect." He looked out across the river as the sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky.

When he returned his gaze to his companion he found her breaking the stems of his bouquet and weaving the blossoms into her hair. He smiled dotingly at her, thinking her quite a pretty picture. "I am reminded of something Samwise Gamgee said."

"When?"

"On our way to the city, I brought them through Cerin Amroth to pause for a time. When his eyes first beheld the place, Sam said that he felt as though he were '_inside_ a song.'3 I feel a similar draw to this realm, and a very great desire to protect all that Lorien is." He stopped and regarded her fondly. "You are an important part of that," he confessed as he picked up a flower and broke the stem to shorten it. He handed it to her and watched her braid it into her shining tresses. His smile was soft when he continued. "I know that you sometimes balk at the way your guardians and I shelter you, but you must know that our protectiveness comes from our great desire to see you hold on to your joy, the delightful wonder with which you experience the world. You are the embodiment of all that is good and fair in our realm."

She gave him a beatific smile as her slim fingers continued their work.

He allowed his glance to grow stern as his thoughts turned to their archery exercise. "It would bring me great joy and peace if you took your training more seriously. My mind would rest easier if I were sure that you were safe in all circumstances."

She dropped her gaze as a guilty blush colored her cheeks. "I will, if it will make you stop looking at me with such disapproval."

He grinned, allowing himself a moment of quiet triumph as the river babbled and the sun's rays threw areas of shadow and sharp relief onto the carpet of green and gold leaves around them.

When his eyes found Isilmei's again, he noted the disquiet in her expression. "I did not mean to reprimand, sweetling," he assured her. "Your youth and enthusiasm are one of the reasons I so enjoy your company. You remind me of brighter days, for you are a product of the summertime you have not seen.4 I work to protect you, in part, because the brightness of your spirit lightens my own."

She regarded him shyly through lowered lashes.

"Our people so often grow sorrowful with great age," he said, needing her to understand that his insistence was not motivated by any other than his urge to preserve her happiness. "And yet I believe you will be one of the few who manages to remain forever young at heart. I will do whatever I can to ensure it."

She smiled widely and scooted over to him to throw her arms around his neck. He squeezed her around the waist in return, before leaning back to make sure that her smile was still in place. She kissed his cheek quickly. "I am so very blessed to have you in my life, Haldir."

He was nearly overcome by her words, by the sweetness of her expression and the perfect trust in her eyes. Unable to speak, he pulled gently on the ends of her hair again before lying back on the blanket. He propped his hands behind his head and gazed up at the clear blue sky above them. "The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair," he said, thinking of her, "and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater."5

"You are warrior, scholar, and philosopher, my friend." As he glanced over at her he saw that she had finished weaving his bouquet into her pale tresses. She had formed a crown of blossoms on her head, the bright yellow, light green, and white of the flowers complementing with the interwoven strands of silver and gold in her hair.

He lowered his chin in gentle salute. "As you say, Princess."

A moment of companionable silence stretched between them as the sun slowly began to make its way toward the western horizon. He felt her gaze on his face and turned to see that her expression had grown uneasy.

In answer to the questioning eyebrow he lifted, she said, "You have not mentioned the creature."

"What creature?" He knew already that he was not going to like this turn in the conversation.

She frowned. "Even though you would seek to protect me from knowledge of darkness or danger, my friend, not everyone shares your care. This morning while we were weaving Lady Maenis and Lady Pigeneth were speaking of the creature that followed the Fellowship into the Wood. Your brother Rúmil told Pigeneth that the creature disappeared and no one has seen it since. It might be here even now."

He found himself unable to suppress a groan of displeasure. The concern marring her pretty features was exactly why he had not intended for any outside the Guard to talk of the creature. "My brother talks too much," he said crossly.

"What kind of creature was it?"

He had no choice but to answer her for once she had taken a question into her head, she would pursue it doggedly until she found a satisfying answer. "In truth, I do not know," he admitted with a sigh. "It was small, like the Halflings, but much thinner. It scaled the trunk of the tree as though it had been born doing so, but there are no beings of that type that I have ever heard of. When it realized I had spotted it, it fled."

"Is it still in the Wood?" He looked over to see her casting a worried glance over her shoulder.

"I do not believe so, for it was not aggressive or threatening. Its interest seemed focused on the Periannath, and I assume on the Ringbearer specifically. Certainly it was not interested in the Elves. Quite the opposite in fact, it seemed to view us a threat." He was thoroughly annoyed that their pleasant conversation had taken such a gloomy turn.

Isilmei seemed somewhat mollified by his answer, but not entirely. "And you are sure it did not follow you into the city?"

"Quite," he said as he reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He attempted to withdraw his fingers, but she held onto him tightly. "If the creature were within the Wood, the Lady would know it. Still, the border guard has been doubled, and patrols within the city itself have increased as well. We are quite safe, and the Forest Guard and City Patrol are ever-vigilant."

She nodded, accepting his conviction and releasing her vice grip on his fingers. She turned worried eyes back to the river. "I do not like feeling the dangers that exist outside our realm."

"Neither do I," he agreed. "And I would not have discussed this with you had you not insisted."

She nodded her understanding and acceptance. As he studied her he felt confident enough in her faith in him and the Guard to take the conversation one step further to reinforce his earlier point. He knew that he could trust her discretion, for she unlike others would not repeat what she had heard, and he wanted her to fully understand why it was so important to him that she learn to defend herself. "We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon the bowstring than upon the harp.6 And so not to badger, sweetling, but that is why you must…"

Just then there was a loud snapping sound in the tree next to them. From his vantage point he could see that it was nothing more than a squirrel venturing out too far on too thin a twig. The twig broke and the animal fell a few feet before smoothly catching itself on a larger branch and continuing on its way.

His friend could not see what happened from her vantage point, however, and her lingering nervousness at hearing about the creature caused her to gasp and scurry into his arms. Before he could reassure her she had curled into his chest, wrapping one arm about his waist and burying her face in his tunic.

He laughed as he curled his arms protectively about her and gave her a little squeeze. "It is all right, little one. It was just a clumsy rodent. You are _safe_."

She turned her face up and their eyes met. As his breath caught in his throat he realized he could lie there and study her face forever if she would let him. The smooth cream of her skin, the delicate pink of her full and well-formed lips, the blue of her eyes beneath inky lashes and dark gently arching brows. The straight perfection of her nose and the neat point of her chin. She was lovely, and she needed to be kissed. He almost allowed himself to indulge in his desires, but his sense of duty held him in check. Isilmei deserved to be courted properly, and there was something he needed to do before he could give in to his growing urge to kiss her.

He dropped his head back onto the ground and stared up at the sky in effort to calm the rising heat in his blood. "No more talk of darkness or strange beings," he said. "This is too nice an afternoon to waste on such thoughts."

She nodded in agreement before resting her head on his chest. "What should we speak of, then?"

He smiled as an idea occurred to him. "I believe there is to be a party for the Fellowship in several days' time. Have you heard of it?"

She chuckled as she gave his waist a squeeze. "You know that I have, since I helped plan it."

"Ah, good. Then you will be going."

"Naturally."

He looked down at the top of her head, hoping she would again raise her eyes to his. "Would you allow me to escort you for the evening?"

She raised herself up on her left elbow and looked at him as her right hand slid up to his chest. Happiness filled his heart as her expression revealed her delight. "I would be honored."

"Good then," he said with a smile as he pulled her back into his arms, "it is settled." She nestled her cheek just below his shoulder. As she lay against him and he listened to the gentle sounds of her breathing, a thought occurred to him. "Hold up your hand."

She raised eyes the color of the sky above them to give him a questioning look.

"I want to see if the bow string damaged your fingers. Let me see." She raised her right hand from his chest and he lightly traced the faint pink lines marring her delicate flesh. "If you practiced more regularly, I could have a glove made for you that would protect your skin. We cannot have your fine hands becoming as roughened as an old archer's, now can we?"

She smiled wickedly at him, so close that he could capture her pert mouth with his lips if he would but bend forward and take her. "Let me see your hands, old archer."

He glared at her playfully, but before he could form a reply, she had rolled to her back and ensnared his right hand in her own. She leaned forward slightly as she examined him. "You _do_ have calluses!" she exclaimed.

"They build over time," he replied as he chuckled at her surprise. "I can now fire repeatedly without damaging my fingers."

Satisfied with his explanation, she stretched herself out next to him once more as she pulled his arm back around her body. Her right hand returned to his chest and he felt himself relax within her light embrace as the jasmine scent of her hair wafted around them.

"What about your left hand?" she asked several moments later.

He had let the thread of conversation go and had to think about it for the briefest moment to determine what on Arda she meant. "What?"

"Is it callused too? Let me see."

He shrugged as he held up his left hand for her inspection. "I can shoot and wield a blade with either arm, so yes, I suppose it is."

She nodded as she studied his palm. "Yes, but these are not so pronounced as the others." As she spoke she traced the outline of each callus and each of his fingers with her silken fingertips. Sparks of pleasure danced along his skin everywhere she touched him. His pulse quickened. When her wandering fingers reached the sensitive place on his palm, the muscles in his core tightened automatically.

She turned innocent eyes up to him. "Not all your skin is rough."

He threaded his fingers through hers and drew their joined hands down to his chest as he took a deep breath to stem the rising tide of his arousal.

Obviously unaware of her effect on him, she sighed contentedly as her gaze drifted toward the river. "I think," she said dreamily, "that with the rush of the river, and the breeze in the trees, and your heartbeat beneath my ear, I could very easily drift to sleep."

He snugged her to him more securely as he whispered, "Sleep. I will be here when you wake." As her breathing slowed, he sought to suppress the fantasies in his mind of the two of them lying entwined in just this way – only with far less clothing – her warm breath floating across his chest as she dreamt happy dreams in his arms. Would he know her dreams within the intimacy of their bond? Would she know his?

'_What am I thinking?'_ he questioned himself as he listened to the deep, even breathing that indicated she had drifted off. He was aware of her – keenly aware – in ways that were new and he felt that somehow he had stumbled onto dangerous, if not unpleasant, ground. She had long been a friend to him, and a true friend. She made him laugh as few others in his life were able to do. He trusted her with his confidences, and there had been times when her perspective on a question had made the answer clear to him.

She was young and short on experience, it was true – perhaps more so due to the overprotectiveness of himself and her grandfather – but her mind was as supple as her warm body pressed against his. She sighed in her sleep, which heightened his awareness of her tempting figure. The swell of her bosom molded against his side and his hand rested in the curve where her narrow waist flared into her hip.

Somehow, as he watched and yet had not paid attention, his dear young friend had grown into a lovely, bond-ready elleth. It might have taken him a while to notice, but clearly he was not the only one to have done so. An image of the prince's speculative gaze following her figure as she retreated from the practice fields swam before his eyes. He suppressed a groan at his own folly. He had no reason to distrust the prince so, and had not when intercepting him at the border. And yet, distrust was exactly what had settled in his chest from the moment he had discovered the princeling comforting Isilmei the night of Mithrandir's lament. It had galled him that another was doing a job that he considered to be _his_.

And yet, did he have the right to consider such a task his own? He knew that she thought him a very close friend – perhaps her closest friend in some ways – but was that justification for the proprietary turn in his thoughts toward her?

As the shadow grew outside their borders, he had so dedicated himself to his duty that it had been centuries since he had even entertained notions of courting, much less bonding, and yet his thoughts were obviously turning in that direction now. He realized then that Isilmei's company was the one pleasurable indulgence he had allowed himself of late, as evidenced by his actions when he brought the Fellowship into the city. He had sought her out at the very earliest opportunity, wanting nothing more than to gaze upon her smile and show her the little people he knew would so delight her. And somehow he had known exactly where to find her as she stalked through the darkened forest playing whatever game had her high in that tree attempting an impossible shot at a practice board.

His thoughts turned to their playful flirtation on the archery range. Not all of the glances she had tossed him had been as innocent as when she so enticingly examined his hands. He was sure he had caught her eyes hungrily following his figure when he retrieved a bow and quiver for her from the shed. Were her feelings for him turning in a similar direction as his own? Did his touch excite her as much as hers excited him? Had he imagined it when he thought she shuddered within his arms on the practice field? Was he mistaken that the warm light flaring in her eyes when he gazed at her was meant for him alone?

A muscle twitching along her shoulders in her sleep disrupted the wandering of his thoughts. He disentangled their fingers and smoothed his hand down her arm to soothe her before gathering her more fully against his chest. Her head slid from his shoulder to the crook of his neck while her right arm draped across his waist. He thought he would be content to hold her this way all night, almost as content as he would be to divest them both of their garb until there was nothing between them but their skin. He brushed his cheek against the top of her head, relishing the feel of her satin tresses against his face. Though he had not thought to take a bonded mate, lately his heart had a mind of its own. And its call was quite clear. Her hand flexed in the throes of a dream, feeling to him like a gentle caress. He wondered if she had any idea how easily she could inflict the sweetest of torments upon him if she took the mind.

'_There is only one proper thing to do,'_ he decided as a new sense of purpose filled his chest. He must face the potential wrath of Lord Celeborn and ask his permission to court her formally. His lady deserved no less.

TBC…

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1_The Silmarillion_, "From a Letter by J.R.R. Tolkien to Milton Waldman, 1951," pg. 16. Please keep in mind that my copy is electronic. I'm not sure how page numbers will jive with the various hardcopy editions in circulation.

"These are the _First-born_, the Elves; and the _Followers_ Men. The doom of the Elves is to be immortal, to love the beauty of the world, to bring it to full flower with their gifts of delicacy and perfection, to last while it lasts, never leaving it even when 'slain,' but returning – and yet, when the Followers come, to teach them, and make way for them, to 'fade' as the Followers grow and absorb the life from which both proceed."

2_Ibid_, pg. 16.

3_The Fellowship of the Ring_, pg. 396.

"It's sunlight and bright day, right enough," [Sam] said. "I thought that Elves were all for moon and stars: but this is more Elvish than anything I ever heard tell of. I feel as if I was _inside_ a song, if you take my meaning."

Haldir looked at them, and he seemed indeed to take the meaning of both thought and word. He smiled.

4_Ibid_, pg. 424.

Galadriel to Sam: "Then you may remember Galadriel, and catch a glimpse far off of Lorien, that you have seen only in our winter. For our Spring and our Summer are gone by, and they will never be seen on earth again save in memory."

5 _Ibid_, pg. 393.

6_Ibid_, pg. 393.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Requests and Preparations**

His Lady had warned him that this day would come, Celeborn reflected wistfully as he welcomed the other ellon into his living quarters. Galadriel sat on the far side of the room sewing glittering beads onto the neckline of a silver shift. She smiled at him knowingly, but said not a word either out loud or inside his mind other than to welcome the Chief Marchwarden to their home. When it came to their granddaughter, Celeborn's tendency toward overprotectiveness caused him to take the lead in most situations.

While Celeborn wanted to maintain the idea that perhaps she had been wrong and Haldir's errand was not as she led him to believe, he could feel the ellon's nerves. The Marchwarden was worried about what kind of response he would receive from Celeborn, and not unwisely.

"Tell me, Haldir," Celeborn began after inviting his Marchwarden to enter. "What brings you to see us today?"

"Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel" Haldir began as he placed his right hand over his heart and bowed in a gesture of respect first to Celeborn and then to Galadriel. He straightened to his full height but Celeborn noticed the nervous gulp he failed to suppress before he found the voice to continue. "I come seeking…that is, I would ask…"

Celeborn could feel Galadriel's amusement vibrating across their bond like bright chords of laughter. He fought down a smile but did not feel guilty about allowing himself to enjoy the other ellon's discomfort – considering the purpose of his visit. "Yes?"

The tips of Haldir's ears flushed red before he forced himself to continue. "I would like to ask your permission to court Lady Isilmei."

So there it was. Galadriel had been correct, as usual, when she warned him that their little pearl was about to have a suitor. Sometimes he found her ability a rather annoying quality. That damned Mirror!

"She is very young," Celeborn frowned.

"Aye," Haldir agreed with a stiff nod. "And very inexperienced."

"I am pleased that you recognize that fact," he said evenly.

Haldir was determined to persevere. "She counts me among her truest friends, and I believe that you know how much I care for her."

As admittedly overprotective as Celeborn was, he could not deny the truth of Haldir's words. "You have long been a good protector toward her. A good teacher."

"Thank you, my Lord. I would seek to deepen my relationship with her, for my feelings for her have grown into something more than friendship." The sincerity in his expression and tone of voice, the honor of his intent and the seriousness with which he took it, could not be denied.

Had Celeborn been ready for his youngling to be of bondable age, the petitioner in front of him possessed many of the qualities that he would wish for in a potential suitor. "And what do you know of her feelings for you?"

"I believe that she cares for me, but how much more than that, I am not certain." He took a step forward. "I would like your permission to court her formally so that she and I may discover whether or not she returns my affections."

Celeborn arched one eyebrow as he lowered his chin and stared the Marchwarden in the eye. "And if she does not?"

Haldir's expression fell, but his voice and gaze were firm when he answered. "If she does not, then I will withdraw my suit and respect her wishes."

"Good. She must not be forced."

Haldir looked wounded. "My Lord, I would sooner cut off my own arms than hurt her. The pace of our relationship will be of her choosing, and in line with the respect and honor I hold for your household."

"See that it is, Haldir," he said, but he was somewhat mollified. He looked to Galadriel for her agreement. His wife nodded and gave him the smallest of smiles.

Celeborn allowed his expression to soften as he rose and extended a hand to Haldir. The two ellyn gripped each other at the elbow in a gesture of mutual affection. "We give you our blessing."

"Thank you, my Lord. My Lady," Haldir's tone was humble, his expression joyous.

"Ever have we trusted you with our treasure, but she is naïve of the world, and you are far savvier than she. We expect you to be careful with her heart, and that you will not take advantage of her innocence."

"It will be as you say, Lord Celeborn." Wisely understanding that it was in his best interests not to belabor the point or press his luck, the Marchwarden bowed again before turning to make a hasty exit.

Celeborn returned to his chair and sat heavily upon its cushion. He believed in Haldir's sincerity, but was unable to put his mind at ease about the situation. He looked up when Galadriel moved to sit upon the arm of his chair and drape one of her lovely arms over his shoulders. He wound an arm about her waist as he looked up at her.

She raised her hand to smooth the wrinkles of concern off his forehead. "We knew this would happen some day, my love."

"Yes, but so soon?"

"How soon is too soon? She is not an elfling, but an elleth grown and in full blossom. She has been of bondable age for centuries. Many ellith are married much younger than she is now."

He frowned at her. "When it comes to _my_ girls, _any_ time is too soon. Celebrian was far older than Isilmei is now when Elrond asked to court her, and it was _too soon_ for my liking." He sighed. "And yet, I would not seek to deny Pearl the rights and passages of young maidenhood. My only desire is to shield her. It is a dangerous world, and she is still so young in so many ways."

"And yet she is mature in many others. Haldir is not the only ellon who has noticed."

"No one else has spoken to me," he said as his frown bloomed into a full-blown scowl.

She laughed. "Of course not, my husband! Between the two of us, I may have the reputation for being fearsome, yet the look on your face in this moment is almost enough to scare me."

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly. "You do not scare," he told her as he pushed some of her magnificent golden hair behind her ear. "It is one of the many things I love about you."

"Still," she persisted, "were you anyone else, you would have much more trouble on your hands and our little pearl would have many more callers."

"As I said, Haldir summoned up the nerve to ask to court her, so I must not be intimidating enough."

"Haldir is special. He has faced enough dangers in the course of his duties that not even overbearing grandfathers can dissuade him," she said teasingly. "She could do worse."

"I am not comfortable with the idea of her bonding with a warrior, not even one of Haldir's skill and position. His duties could cost her dearly in these troubled times." He glanced at the door that opened toward Isilmei's rooms.

"It is true that these days are dark, and I fear they will grow darker still ere long. Yet Celebrian first met Elrond in dark days which did not diminish their love, only made it stronger." Her tone of voice communicated more than any words she could say that her heart was worried even while she tried mightily to concentrate on happy thoughts. "They had many years of joy together. Would we not wish the same for Pearl?"

Celeborn's heart grew yet more troubled at the worry plaguing his wife's spirit. His lips fixed into a frown. "Celebrian and her husband were parted."

Galadriel shook her head as though to banish her dark thoughts. When she again met his gaze her eyes were somewhat clearer, as though she were finally able to concentrate fully on the conversation at hand. "You know as well as I that Celebrian did not lose Elrond to war. Our daughter was of a more adventuring nature in her youth than Isilmei has ever been. Our pearl is unlikely to sally forth into the wilds the way that Celebrian so often did."

"Isilmei has not your understanding or wisdom, nor does she have Celebrian's ability with a blade."

"She will learn," his wife patiently insisted. "In many respects, Haldir would be an ideal match for her. He has cared for her and taught her many things during her youth."

He found that a thought that would surely fester. "I find I care less and less for what he might wish to _teach_ her."

She poked him in the side. "What I mean is that he understands her innocence. You must admit that he has sheltered her just as we have. Who better to watch over her in our stead?"

His arm tightened about her waist. She was quite insistent in championing Haldir's cause, so perhaps she had knowledge she had not yet shared with him. "Then you think they will be bonded? Have you foreseen it?"

"Yes…and no," she answered with a sad shake of her head as her fingers absently stroked the fabric of his shirt. "It is difficult to see anything clearly in this time of growing shadow." Her expression became distant.

"Galadriel?"

"There is much fighting and bloodshed before us. The Enemy's darkness colors nearly everything I see. Frodo's journey will not be an easy one, and his success is not certain. And yet I believe that we will rejoice again, but _who_ will be there at the rejoicing is less clear to me."

Celeborn frowned as he leaned back in his chair and pulled her closer to him. He worried about the future of his people, especially that of his young – Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen and Isilmei.

"There is much that makes me melancholy these days," she said with a sigh. "Because of all the sorrow there is around us, I believe we should seek to embrace and cherish all the joy we can in whatever time remains for us," his wife whispered as she placed a soft kiss on his lips. "Do not be worried about Haldir, for his heart is pure and his intentions are noble. He will not seek to harm her."

"I would rest more easily if I were more certain of the outcome," he persisted. "He could harm her regardless of his intent. Centuries of protecting her are not easily unmade."

She regarded him for a moment before sitting up straighter. "I am teaching her to use the Mirror. When my own gift of foresight revealed itself, what I saw was first of a personal nature." She traced the tip of his ear as she smiled warmly at the memory, sending shivers of pleasure through him. "Perhaps it will work the same with Isilmei. We will try."

He cupped her face with one hand. "If you foresee it and she chooses it, then I will support the match."

She rewarded him with the smile that never ceased to melt his heart. "She cannot ask for more than that, my love."

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Haldir climbed a long flight of steps, watching as the Lord and Lady's home rose into view. They had chosen one of the tallest mallorn for their home, which afforded their rooms an unparalleled view of the Lorien realm. The main cluster of rooms circled the tree's bole. Several smaller pairs of rooms were anchored to adjoining branches. He noted that the exterior door to Isilmei's rooms was closed as he reached the wide landing. Intricately constructed flets built on several levels connected the main residence with the series of satellite rooms. Between Isilmei's door and that of her grandparents was a sitting area composed of cushioned chairs and a low table. Urns overflowing with bright flowers dancing in the breeze surrounded Isilmei's entryway. He felt a thrill of anticipation as he raised a hand to knock on her door for tonight he intended to make it clear to everyone – especially Isilmei – that she had captured his heart.

Her soft voice floated toward him on the breeze. "Come in."

When he pushed open the door, he saw her sitting at the dressing table just to the left of the entryway. He pointedly kept his gaze off her bed, watching instead as she pulled a brush through her hair. Gauzy window sheers were pulled open and sunlight filtered in to cast a halo of light on her shining hair. He had been in her rooms many times before, of course, but his changing intentions toward her caused him to halt in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to appear nonchalant as he looked at her.

She wore a gown of the deepest midnight blue. The creamy paleness of her skin was set off to perfection by the dress's deep hue, the effect of which was heightened further by the silver shift she wore beneath the dress. The shimmering fabric peeked out from hem, cuffs, and gently scooped neckline, and he realized that this was the same shift he had seen the Lady sewing when he had asked for permission to be here in this moment, beholding Isilmei's beauty and feeling like he must be the most fortunate ellon in all of Lorien.

Her ensemble deepened the blue of her eyes and highlighted the white gold in her hair. His fingers ached to feel her smooth skin. He could have stood there forever gazing at her, sitting before him in the late afternoon sunlight. He searched for something smooth, or clever, or endearing to say before his tongue became permanently attached to the roof of his mouth. "You do not look ready yet."

She smiled, shaking her head as she laughed softly. "Almost. I seem to be having trouble with my hair. It will not cooperate with me this afternoon."

In some dim corner of his mind he hoped he would be able to do better than _'You do not look ready yet'_ when he presented his suit to her later that evening. If his feelings for her would turn him into a blathering fool, he hoped he would be able to regain his composure before he made a mess of things. "Might I offer to assist, sweetling?"

She held out the brush to him as he stepped into the room. He shook his head as he decided that holding the brush would give away the slight tremble in his hands. She put it down; sitting back patiently to watch him in the small mirror perched upon the table. Her long, straight hair was heavy satin in his hands, softer than the finest silk and slippery smooth as it slid through his fingers. The fragrance of midnight jasmine reached his nose as he partitioned the strands.

Conscious of her blue gaze upon his face and hands as he worked, he quickly twined a warrior's braid just above each of her ears. It was a forward gesture on his part, for within the subculture of the Guard, the braids were the mark of a mature warrior. Only those who had earned the right to wear such braids did so in public, except when a warrior's mate chose to sport the braids in a show of devotion and fidelity. He was unsure of Isilmei's reaction and was prepared to unwind the braids if she objected, but she continued to watch him in silence.

As he pulled a handful of hair off her left shoulder, the hollow created by her collarbone was exposed to his view. He swallowed reflexively as an almost uncontrollable urge to plant kisses all along her shoulder and up her neck surged through him. Fighting for calm, he continued the plaits until they reached the ends of her hair, laying each one over her shoulders as he finished them. She secured each braid by weaving a thin silver ribbon through the end of the plait.

Though his senses were highly charged, it was still a peaceful moment between them in the quiet afternoon. He realized he would be quite content to play lady's maid to her on a more regular basis. Bird song wafted in through the open windows and doorway. Neither of them spoke, and Isilmei's expression in the mirror was serene. Her half-lidded eyes and the tiny smile playing about her full lips suggested she enjoyed his ministrations as much as he enjoyed feeling the texture and weight of her hair in his fingers.

While he would have been content to stand there and play with her hair for the rest of the evening, he knew that the tardy appearance of the Lord and Lady's ward would not help advance his cause. Regretfully he allowed her silken strands to fall away from him as he carefully stepped back. "There. That should keep it out of your face as you dance with me tonight."

She smiled, dimples appearing on either side of her appealing pink lips. "Does that mean I am not allowed to dance with anyone else?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose your responsibilities as our Lady's ward will not allow me to monopolize your time, but I will claim as many dances as you permit – and will scowl threateningly at any other ellon who approaches you."

Her smile broadened. "What about the hobbits, men, and dwarf?"

He made a face which made her laugh.

"Just let me finish arranging myself and I will be ready to commence watching you scowl."

She pulled back the hair around her face and gathered it near the crown of her head, stopping to admire his handiwork and smiling. It was a secret smile the meaning of which he was uncertain, but he hoped that it indicated she began to understand his interest and was pleased. Starting just above one temple, she wove several more plaits of varying thicknesses through to the ends of her hair and secured each of them with ribbon.

As she started to gather the plaits together, he remembered the gift resting close to his heart. "Wait. Perhaps these will help," he said softly as he approached her.

He removed a square of red silk from his cloak and handed it to her. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes as she peeled back the silk to reveal a pair of enameled hair combs.

"Ai, Haldir," she breathed. "They are beautiful." Reverently she traced the design he had painted on them in colors that represented the silver-gold of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the evening sky, and the glowing moonlight for which she was named. He had not known she would choose a blue gown for tonight's banquet, but he was enormously pleased that his gift would look so perfect on her this evening.

She looked up at him, eyes aglow. "I see your eye for design in them. Whatever are they for? My begetting day is not for several more months."

He knelt beside her so that they were nearly at eye level with one another. He took her free hand in his. "For new beginnings," he said softly, dropping a whisper of a kiss onto the back of her hand.

She turned her hand to gently cup his cheek. "Thank you."

He smiled, standing quickly to put some distance between them so he could resist the temptation to pull her into his arms and kiss her then and there. He had a plan for kissing her, but this was not moment. "Try them on."

She placed the thin silver diadem she wore on formal occasions on her brow before re-gathering her braids and coiling them atop the crown of her head. That circlet gave him brief pause, for it was a physical reminder of the distance between them in the social order. He was from an old and proud family, one that had served the Galadhrim, and later Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, faithfully and well for millennia. But he was not of royal birth. She, as the daughter of Lord Celeborn's kinsman, was a lady of rank, princess of a realm which died more than an age before her birth. He reminded himself that his rank was _earned_ through long years of service, if not by accident of birth, and that he had the blessing of his Lord and Lady, which was more than enough to silence any criticism of overreaching that he might face. Not that he cared much what others had to say about the matter, truthfully. The opinion of the lovely young elleth sitting in front of him was the only one that truly mattered, and he had never once seen her treat another in accordance with social ranking. She saw past the surface of things, which was one of the qualities he appreciated most about her.

He continued watching her work as she removed the ribbons and tucked the ends of each plait into the arrangement. Though he had seen no confirmation from her expression or words that she recognized the significance of his braids, the arrangement she created was very clever indeed. She kept his warrior's braids but softened the gesture's bold overtones by blending them with the other braids she had woven. He wished he knew whether or not she was consciously aware of his intentions but her expression remained innocent. Finally she secured her arrangement with one of his combs slipped into either side of the coil. Together they looked like a lovely butterfly perched upon her softly glowing tresses. With a final glance toward the mirror she stood and turned a graceful pirouette in front of him.

"How do I look?" She asked with a smile.

He crossed his arms over his chest in effort to muffle the pounding of his heart. She was a vision. "Lovely," he answered. "You are an enchantress."

She beamed up at him as she met him at the doorway. As he offered her his arm and she slipped her small, neat hand into the crook of his elbow, she said, "Then I am ready to be seen with our handsome Chief Marchwarden."

Hope soared in his heart as he enveloped her fingers with his free hand.

"I believe you really are the most wonderful, most thoughtful, dearest friend any elleth ever had," she continued happily as they made their way toward the banquet hall.

Her choice of 'friend' nearly choked him. _'We shall see about that, my Lady,'_ he thought.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Revelations and Challenges**

They arrived in the hall just before the majority of the guests began to stream in. Together they greeted her grandparents before she left his side to review with her grandmother the work of the cooks and musicians. He joined both of his brothers as they stood near the door conversing quietly about patrol assignments.

Haldir nodded in acknowledgement as Magolchon, a senior member of the Forest Guard due to his tireless work and in spite of his relative youth, entered the hall. On his arm was the lovely and petite Malfinhel, a Lady-in-Waiting to Lady Galadriel. Rúmil and Orophin joined him in greeting their fellow guardsmember. Haldir quickly noticed an exchange of significant looks that passed between Magolchon and Rúmil.

As the couple walked by, Orophin inclined his head toward his brothers. "I believe that Magolchon is the ringleader of the rancor growing within the Guard."

Rúmil nodded his agreement as Haldir sharply eyed the retreating back of the young ellon. "You must admit he has a point, brother," Rúmil said in an even tone.

"I most certainly do not, Rúmil," Orophin disagreed. "He is an upstart, and a troublemaker."

"I agree," Haldir added. "It is necessary that we be united in our ranks during these dark days. Magolchon is entitled to his opinion, but if I hear him voicing it inappropriately, he will regret his rash words."

"Haldir, how can you fault him? The whole of Lorien was ordered to welcome the Fellowship with open arms. I do not argue that their quest is both dangerous and important, but we in the Guard put our lives in danger each and every time we go out on patrol. Are we thanked for our service? No. We are not!"

"Keep your voice _down_," Haldir gritted out through clenched teeth. "You are not thanked every time you return from patrol because it is your _duty_. You are expected – we are all expected – to discharge our duties with honor and the knowledge that our people could not live in peace without us. We are not expected to be glory-seekers."

Their eldest brother looked quickly around the room to make sure no one had overheard the heated exchange. "This is neither the time nor the place, brothers," Orophin told them quietly.

"Tell me, _Chief_, how long has it been since the Forest Guard was fêted twice in the space of a month?" Rúmil whispered fiercely. "Members of the Guard have noticed that some brave souls seem to be counted as more important than others." He returned Haldir's hard stare as he finished his argument. "We cannot afford a crisis of morale with Sauron's forces seeking to destroy the realm. Our people deserve better than that."

As Haldir drew in a breath to reprimand his firebrand bother, he felt Isilmei's gentle presence approaching him from behind even before he heard the light rhythm of her footsteps. He shot Rúmil a look of warning just before she returned her hand to the crook of his elbow. He sought to push down the annoyance he felt toward his younger brother as he favored his lady with a smile. "Is all well with the feast?"

"Yes. It should be wonderful. Greetings, Orophin, Rúmil," she said as she smiled at each of them in turn. Her keen gaze shifted from one to another of them as she sought to determine the reason for their tension.

Even though the Lord and Lady eschewed loftier titles, Isilmei was the princess of their realm – her status was more than enough to compel even Rúmil to behave graciously. "Lady Isilmei," his brothers greeted her in tandem.

She favored them with another smile before tugging lightly on Haldir's arm. "Come. Our guests are arriving." As he turned to follow her, he noted the roll of Rúmil's eyes, the firm line of Orophin's mouth. Clearly this conversation would be revisited.

Haldir's position as Chief Marchwarden – highest ranking commander of the Forest Guard – afforded him a place in the receiving line near to his Lord and Lady and their ward. His position as Isilmei's escort allowed him stand beside her as the members of the Fellowship filed into the hall. The Elves of Lorien were all on their feet, a round of applause greeting the Ringbearer and his companions as they were welcomed by the Lord and Lady, their chief advisors, and the principal members of their court.

Haldir allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction that Isilmei's hand was still tucked into his arm when Prince Legolas came before them. Isilmei curtsied, casting her eyes demurely toward the floor, which caused her to miss the subtle exchange between Haldir and the prince. The prince noticed the placement of her hand and glanced at Haldir with a look of curiosity in his sharp eyes. Haldir reached across himself to cover Isilmei's fingers with his own. The ranger Aragorn saw the exchange, Haldir realized, when he caught the man's amused look as he passed by.

When all eight members of the oddly composed company stood before the Lord and Lady, she stepped forward and gestured toward them. "Welcome, travelers. Lorien stands with you in your task, and tonight we seek to honor you and your quest. Please, be at peace."

With the official greeting concluded and the long lines of banquet tables heavily laden with food, everyone quickly sought their places. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel sat on a raised dais at the front of the hall, while long lines of tables stretched throughout the length of the room. The members of the court and the chief advisers, along with the members of the Fellowship, were assigned seats closest to the dais. Haldir and Isilmei found themselves seated with their backs to the far wall, facing the doorway. Closest to them were both of his brothers, several other commanders from the Guard, and several of the Lady's senior ladies-in-waiting. Haldir was pleased to note that Lady Malfinhel, along with her escort Magolchon, were nearby. He was glad that he would have the opportunity to keep an eye on the young troublemaker and intervene if he attempted to cause a scene. Isilmei's friendship with Malfinhel enabled him to closely monitor their conversation.

To his delight, dinner passed peacefully. Most of their dining companions were known to one another, so conversation flowed easily and everyone sought to focus on pleasant topics. Haldir thoroughly enjoyed sitting next to and conversing with Isilmei. Her wit and grace were impeccable, and he relished the feeling of being so close to her in such a public setting. As uncomfortable as she was on the archery range, here she showed nothing but composure and poise. He realized that she was every inch the princess she was raised to be.

Course after course of delicious foods were served until the diners could eat no more. After the tables were cleared, members of the kitchen staff efficiently came forward to remove the tables so there would be more space for dancing.

Isilmei stepped away to converse with Malfinhel and another young maiden as the room was rearranged. He watched her elegant figure glide away from him as Rúmil joined him.

"Brother," he greeted evenly.

"What do you think you are doing?" Rúmil's tone was sharp with disapproval.

Haldir turned to face his brother fully, hoping to block Rúmil's belligerent expression from Isilmei's view should she turn back his way. "To what do you refer?" Haldir asked. "If you wish to discuss Magolchon and his concerns, we can take that up later, but…"

His brother cut him off. "You are acting like a moonstruck calf over that elleth."

Haldir felt rage ignite in his blood as he narrowed his eyes. A muscle twitched along his jaw line as he snapped, "You will speak of the Lady Isilmei respectfully or not at all. Is that understood?"

Rúmil, ever determined once he had decided on a course of action, pressed forward. "Brother, you are Chief Marchwarden of Lothlorien. We are about to be at war. You have a duty to our people – _all_ of our people – to remember who you are and where your priorities lie. Do not…"

"Do not presume to inform me of my priorities," he said as he struggled to keep his voice low. He leaned toward his brother threateningly. "If I was not fully aware of my responsibilities I would choose this moment to teach you a lesson you richly deserve."

Rúmil had the good sense to lower his voice before he spoke again. "She is too young for you. She is, for all intents and purposes, a princess. Do you really believe she will choose _you_?"

"Why not speak more plainly and name me _old_ and _common_?" Haldir snapped as he struggled mightily to contain his fury. His younger brother had always been passionate and clung obstinately to his position in any argument. Even with that knowledge, it took all Haldir's centuries of training and control to resist the urge to lash out at Rúmil. His brother had never objected to his friendship with Isilmei, so it made no sense that he was so set against a progression in their relationship. He and Rúmil stood there for a tense moment, gray eyes locked onto one another's faces, as Haldir clenched his fists at his sides and tried to remember that punching his brother during a formal court event was a disastrously bad, if admittedly tempting, idea.

Orophin appeared silently between them. "The ranger has sharp eyes," their eldest brother whispered. "He and the dwarf have been watching you for several minutes. If you do not remember who you are and develop better control of yourselves, we will have a very large problem on our hands. The two you will _not_ shame our family in front of the entire court and a _dwarf_. I will not permit it."

Haldir stiffened his spine as he gave his younger brother his most authoritative stare. Rúmil wisely relented, turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room.

As he stared after Rúmil in disappointment and frustration, Haldir felt Orophin place a steadying hand on his arm. "He worries for you, brother," Orophin said quietly. "He is concerned for the Guard, and for the trouble he senses on the horizon. He wants you to be happy, but the timing concerns him. He is afraid you may become distracted by your charming young lady."

"I can handle myself quite well, Orophin." The muscles in his jaw ached from clenching his teeth so tightly.

"I know that you can, Haldir," Orophin assured him. "As evidenced by the fact that you did not throttle our little brother just now."

Haldir felt a spark of laughter begin to diffuse the anger coursing through him. He glanced away from the doorway and saw Orophin giving him a sly grin. "He earned it," Haldir said.

Orophin nodded. "He did." The first strains of music wafted through the air before they could further discuss their wayward brother. "Your lovely distraction approacheth."

Haldir turned just as Isilmei slipped next to his side and twined her fingers in his. He fought to release the rest of his aggression and focus on happier thoughts as Orophin smoothly inclined his head toward Isilmei and stepped away. Haldir looked down to catch her studying his face, a crease of worry marring her smooth brow.

"You are angry," she said. It was not a question.

"It is nothing," he lied as he squeezed her hand.

"You lie, but for now I will let you get away with it. Smile for me," she pleaded with a winning grin.

He obliged, happy to have her back by his side and determined not to let Rúmil's lapse of decorum ruin such a pleasant evening. "Dance with me," he insisted as he swept her into his arms and out among the sea of revelers.

They danced together many times over the next several hours. The musicians were in fine form and the citizens of Lorien reveled in the atmosphere created by the merry strains of music. A plethora of candles added a warm softness to the illumination provided by the Fëanorian lamps hanging from the walls and ceiling. Haldir relinquished his hold on Isilmei only long enough for her to fulfill her obligations as her Lady's ward.

He had no interest in dancing with any other, so he merely watched as she danced with Lord Celeborn, and then with the ranger Aragorn. When she stepped into the arms of Boromir of Gondor, his heart went out to her. The brawny man's movements, while strong and confident, lacked the grace and finesse of the ranger who had grown up among elfkind. When the musicians played a tune that matched the dance Isilmei had taught the Hobbits, she quickly organized Malfinhel and several other ladies to partner with the little people. Even Gimli the dwarf joined the dance. Haldir stepped forward to reclaim her just as a particularly romantic piece began, deliberately moving her away from Prince Legolas's approach.

After several more numbers, the Lord and Lady left the room with Aragorn, Prince Legolas, the Ringbearer, and the dwarf. Haldir was certain that they were meeting to discuss the path the Fellowship should take when it left the next morning. Soon after their departure the musicians paused so that the dancers could refresh themselves, and Haldir decided that he had the perfect opportunity to seek a private audience of his own.

"Would you care to walk in the moonlight with me?" he asked as he admired the roses of exertion blooming on Isilmei's alabaster cheeks.

She smiled a look of such pure happiness that he felt its warmth in his heart. "Yes."

He offered her his arm once more and led her toward the doorway, hoping with all his might that she would say _'Yes'_ again after she had heard all that he planned to say.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Choices and Consequences**

Isilmei strolled arm in arm with her chivalrous friend through a gentle, moonlit night. She cared not where he was leading her, enjoying the simple pleasure of his presence beside her and the clean, woodsy scent of the trees that surrounded them. It had been a wonderful party, aside from the tense moments Haldir seemed to have with his brother Rúmil. They were much alike, she thought. Both ellyn were devoted to duty and tended to be very serious. The difference between them, Isilmei believed, was that Haldir was capable of laying his cares aside and enjoying life when properly motivated. He had a delightful sense of humor when he chose to indulge it, and he was capable of great sweetness. She could not remember ever seeing Rúmil smile.

She thought of the dancing they had just enjoyed, realizing that her favorite dances were those she had shared with Haldir. Being on his arm at the banquet had been an exhilarating experience, as had been the adoring glances he cast her way when he thought she was not looking. At one point, she had looked up to see her grandparents watching them dance. Her grandfather had not looked entirely pleased, but her grandmother's expression was serene and she had given a small nod of approval.

A new and surprising awareness was dawning on Isilmei. Haldir was the same dear friend he had been a few weeks ago, but for reasons she could not name her body's reactions were changing. No more were the casual touches they exchanged so thoughtless. It was almost as though lightning ran up her spine whenever their hands contacted. With a blush she remembered the sensation of standing within his arms on the practice field. She had deliberately missed a shot just so that he would surround her again as he corrected her posture. It had been that consciousness that caused her to accept when he asked if he could escort her to the banquet. His hands in her hair earlier that afternoon surely counted as one of the most sensual experiences of her life. She was suddenly overwhelmed by his strong, graceful masculinity.

She had never seen him more handsome than he was this night. The wine-hued robes he had chosen gave a warm, healthy glow to his skin and called attention to his strong form and noble posture. His white-blond hair was pulled back in a way that highlighted the angle of his cheekbones. She thought he looked rather like a king.

Sitting next to him at the banquet, in full view of the entire court, had been a wonderful feeling. Being enfolded in his muscular arms as they skimmed across the dance floor had been even better. She had worked to coax the softness back into his eyes after his exchange with Rúmil, and felt a warm glow that stretched all the way down to her toes as he smiled at her so fondly.

She blushed again as she remembered the adolescent crush she had nurtured for Haldir. During her younger years she dreamed about being on his arm at a party, kissing him in the moonlight. Was her childhood crush returning? Should she not be past that sort of thing? He was Chief Marchwarden of Lothlorien – generous enough to tutor her in forest lore, languages, and archery, to bestow his friendship upon her – but far more well-traveled and experienced than she. He must still see her as the awkward little elfling that she used to be. Must he not?

She shook her head at her own folly, realizing too late that her escort had noticed the gesture.

"What?" He asked as they stepped out from underneath the tree canopy onto a bridge illuminated by the full moon.

"Nothing," she said with another shake of her head. "I am being ridiculous. That is all." She took a step to continue along their path before she realized that Haldir was frozen in place. "What is it?"

"You," he answered simply, "in the moonlight. Just let me look at you for a moment."

She felt her cheeks flush again and dropped her gaze toward her feet as a wave of shyness washed over her. He reached out to gently raise her chin. The look on his face when she met his eyes nearly knocked her off her feet. His expression was soft with wonder, almost worshipful as he gazed at her. The hunger lurking behind the awe in his eyes sparked a flutter of butterfly wings in her belly. "Haldir," she whispered.

"Lord Celeborn named you rightly," he said softly as his thumb skimmed her cheekbone. "You are indeed a maiden of the moon. You are fair and charming in the sunshine, Isilmei, but right now, in this moment, you are more than beautiful. You are radiant."

She did not have the breath to reply as he took both her hands in his, kissing the knuckles first on one hand, and then the other. She was not sure what she had expected him to say in that moment, but his sweet words, the look on his face – they left her speechless and set her head to spinning. She gripped his fingers tightly when he took her by the hand and led her further over the bridge.

They had left the heart of the Caras Galadhon behind them, wending their way down several levels until they were underneath most of the common buildings. Though they were still far above the forest floor, this level of the city was quieter and more isolated at night. They did not speak as she continued to clutch his hand, her mind working furiously to grasp what was happening between them. She felt excited, nervous, and for some reason she could not name, a little afraid. And yet she willingly followed him wherever he was taking her.

Haldir led her down one more short flight of stairs that ended in a leafy arbor. Beyond the arbor she could see soft light and green leaves. He ducked under the low-hanging arch and pulled her behind him and Isilmei blinked as she took in the hanging garden.

It was a small, intimate space, large enough for a swing constructed of entwined limbs. Opposite the swing a pair of lounging chairs with a small table placed between them sat upon a carpet of soft, lush grass. The branches of the trees that had been trained to form the garden were so fully leaved and tightly interwoven that the garden afforded its occupants a great deal of privacy. The space was lit by dozens of tiny lamps suspended in the branches. The effect was that of fireflies dancing on a summer breeze. A small fountain splashing quietly into its own pool across from the swing and the gently whispering trees were the only sounds she could hear outside the pounding of her own heart.

He turned to face her and gently took both of her hands in his once more as she stood there, open mouthed in wonder at the garden's beauty. When her wandering gaze found his face, she could see his delight at her reaction.

"I hoped you would like it, sweetling."

"What is this place?" she asked when she finally found her voice. She thought she knew all of their city, but clearly a few secrets remained.

"It has been here as long as I can remember," he told her, "but I rarely see anyone come or go from this garden." He used their intertwined hands to pull her toward the swing. "I thought it would be a good place for us to talk."

She sat down beside him as her mind struggled to keep up with the swirling rush of emotions and thoughts running through her. She looked for clues in Haldir's expression and found that he seemed as nervous as she felt.

He took a composing breath as his expression shifted toward the one he used when he was teaching. Yet none of their earlier lessons had been conducted in such a romantic place, after such a heady, confusing night. She felt giddy, as though she had consumed too much wine, and giggled at the thought.

The look he gave her indicated he did not appreciate her unexpected outburst. It was another look she had seen before during countless lessons and it urged her to pay attention. She stifled another giggle and tried to school her features into polite concentration. It was a tremendously difficult task when his thumbs were tracing slow, sensuous arcs across the backs of her hands.

His eyes were smoky dark and a look of hope and trepidation flashed through them as he stilled the motion of his hands. "When you think of your future," he began, "what do you envision?"

Isilmei was completely confused. She had no idea where the question originated or what his purpose was in asking it. She blinked at him several times before forming the words to reply. "I…I do not know," she finally stammered. "It is not something I have given much thought."

He frowned as though he were disappointed by her answer. "You are no longer an elfling, my dear. It is time that you think on these matters."

She tried very hard to focus on his questions as she struggled to come up with the answers he seemed to expect. "I know I should like to travel to other realms to study from healers of other cultures."

He nodded as though he found that a wise idea and she felt better to see his approval. "What else?" he prompted.

Isilmei drew in a steadying breath and tried to think clearly. "Well, I suppose I will seek to take over more responsibilities from my grandparents. They have so little time for one another and they love each other so dearly. I could do more to help them manage the daily affairs of the realm."

When she grew quiet to await his reply, he paused for a long moment as though he expected her to say more. He finally stood to pace about the small space; and his place beside her felt cold in his absence. "And what about you?" He asked. "Do you envision someone dearly loving you?"

"You mean," she said, feeling a lump in her throat as she said the words, "as in a bonded mate?"

"Precisely." Something sharp flared in his quicksilver eyes when he glanced at her, which caused the butterflies in her stomach to resume their race.

"Yes, I suppose so. Someday."

He stopped pacing, his eyes boring into her as he searched her face. "And when you think of your future mate," his voice was husky, "what do you see? What qualities does he possess?"

She did not know how to answer him.

"Please, Isilmei. I need to know."

She found she could not take her eyes off his face as she struggled for an answer. "Well, he…he would be…strong. And wise, and noble of heart and deed. And he would love me as much as I would love him."

With joy in his expression he crossed the small space and knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. Her pulse quickened. "If I could create an elleth who had all the qualities I desire in a mate, she would be sweet, and funny, and endearing. She would win the affection of all those she met with her charm and her wit. She would feel a sense of duty to her people and would put the happiness of others above her own. She would be you."

She gasped as the garden began to spin around her. "Haldir…"

"I can see that this surprises you, but…"

"Haldir…"

His hands gripped her with an urgent strength. "Please, sweetling, let me finish. I want you to know of my feelings for you in the hopes that you will someday realize how perfect we are for one another. I would cherish you, and care for you, for all our long years."

She shook her head, unable to believe that his words were true and so overwhelmed that she did not trust herself to stand. There had been a time when she had dreamed of a moment like this, with him; but she had long ago realized that she had many years and a very long way to grow before she could be well matched with someone of Haldir's stature. It had been that realization that had led her to find satisfaction in his platonic friendship. When she looked at him now, all she could see were the qualities that she lacked. "Of all the ellith in Lorien," she began sadly, "not to mention in all of Middle-earth, there are so many who would be a better match for you. So many whose sophistications would be more like your own." She raised a hand to finger a soft wisp of his hair hanging next to his cheek. "I will always be your devoted friend, but you deserve a mate who stands beside you as a full and equal partner, not one you feel you have to chaperone. There are so many who are more beautiful, more talented."

He cupped her face in both of his hands, letting his thumbs press against her lips to silence her. His heart was in his eyes when he spoke. "Of all the faces in all of Middle-earth, yours is most fair, and most dear, to me. I have watched you grow from a sweet elfling into a kindhearted, loving elleth. When I look at you now, I see what you have become, and the glory of what you will become still. I would stand beside you as your full and equal partner as you make that journey, for you are much more than a dear, old friend to me."

"Haldir, I…" she stopped as she struggled to find the words to describe her thoughts and feelings. How could he possibly think them an even match? And how could she possibly give in to him knowing how far short she fell of her own ideal for him? "When I look at you, I see an ellon who embodies the very best qualities of our people. You are good, and righteous, and astute, and you are devoted to our realm and to your brothers." She traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her index finger. "I see your handsome face and the perfection of your form. You are magnificent. And yet I cannot help wondering what will happen if you decide that I am not enough for you."

His expression told her that he was stunned by her statement. "What could you possibly mean?"

She had to make him understand what she meant, the cause of her fears. "What if…"

"You are…"

She leaned forward until their foreheads touched. She craved his touch, but could not bring herself to look into his eyes any longer as the storm of her emotions crashed about her. "Some of my earliest memories center around you," she confessed in a voice grown thick with tears. One of her hands caressed his neck at just the spot where she had imagined placing her cheek earlier in the evening. She wove her fingers into his soft hair and struggled to hold her tears at bay as she poured out her heart to him. "I do not know a life that does not have you in it. I rely upon your friendship. And yet lately you make me feel things that are new. Intoxicating and exciting, and fearsome." She drew in a shuddering breath. "What you ask of me is a terrible gamble. One I am not sure I am strong enough to place."

As she fought for control of herself, he moved to mirror her posture by caressing her neck with one hand before letting his fingers slip into her hair. His other hand rose to grip her forearm as her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"You are one of the pillars of my life," she told him softly. "What you ask of me is that I risk giving up that part of my foundation which has been such a source of strength."

"No, I do not. I…"

It was her turn to insist she be heard. "Let me finish. If we take this journey, what happens if it does not end where we hope? What happens to me if you decide that my lack of wisdom is more of a burden than you are willing to bear? If this goes well, it could be wonderful…"

He gripped her shoulder. "It _will_ be…"

"But if it does not go well, then I will lose my friend." With that she sat back and took one of his hands in both of hers to press it against her ribs so that he could feel the hammering of her heart. "That is a very dear price you would have me pay. The thought of it causes me pain."

He removed his hand from her side and gently touched her face. The depth of emotion in his eyes was nearly her undoing when he urgently whispered, "I trust us."

"I am afraid of losing you." Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Her heart lurched at the expression of devastation he gave her. "I would be so much more than an old friend to you," he vowed.

"Then give me a little time to work through my fears. Help me conquer them."

He drew in a deep breath and held it before he dared respond. "I will," he promised, though she noticed the break in his voice he could not control.

"Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he traced the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb. She shivered in his hands. "May I…" he began, stopping when a reflexive swallow made it impossible to speak.

"What?"

"May I kiss you?"

In spite of her confusion, her nervousness, and her fear, his kiss was what she wanted more than anything else in that moment. "Please."

He must have seen the lingering trepidation in her eyes for he moved so very slowly as he leaned in to place a feathery kiss on her forehead. Her eyes closed and her lips tingled for the touch of his as he kissed each of her eyelids, her cheeks. The pad of his thumb continued tracing the edge of her lower lip, making her tilt her face up in search of his lips, but he insisted on kissing the tip of her nose and placing three soft kisses along her jaw line before he finally covered her mouth with his own.

His fingers slipped into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he gently, but so thoroughly, kissed her lips. She whimpered a sound full of need and anguish that elicited a startling reaction from him.

He stood abruptly, drawing her up with him and hauling her against his strong frame. Lightning danced along her limbs and struck at each place their bodies connected with one another. The gentle awe of his earlier kisses was replaced by desperate yearning as he claimed her mouth with his lips and tongue. Her fingers dug into the hard chest muscles underneath his robes as she clung to him, knowing full well that she was not strong enough to stand on her own two feet in this moment. She could feel his heart pounding a wild staccato beat underneath her hands as she returned his kisses. He held her to him with one arm wrapped around her waist as his other hand tangled in her hair.

Already inundated and confused, the raw power of his body against hers and the brutal strength of the arms surrounding her alarmed her further. His hold on her was stronger than mithril – she would not be able to break his embrace even if she wanted to do so. She wanted his kisses to last forever, and what was more, she wanted to know what he could do with his mouth, his hands, if he put them on other parts of her body. She was deeply afraid of what would happen to her if he did those things. And yet she also wanted things between them to stay just as they had for centuries, safe and comfortable and predictable so that she could rely on his continued presence in her life. Finally she could contain her emotions no more and her anxiety and confusion spilled over her eyelids and slid down her cheeks.

When he tasted her tears, he abruptly broke the kiss and held her at arm's length. "What is wrong?"

Desperate and confused, she pushed herself away from his chest with all the strength she could muster and curled into herself as tears streamed down her face.

His expression grew affronted when he saw the panic in her eyes. "I would _never_ force you to do anything you did not want," his breath came in ragged gasps. "If you come to me, it will be by _your_ choosing."

"I want…" she stammered as she struggled to control her own breathing and the urge to throw herself back into his arms and cry until the world made sense once more. "I need, I need to think."

He nodded stiffly as he let go of her and curled his fists into the fabric of his robes.

She staggered on legs that had gone wobbly toward the arching entryway. Reaching the opening, she looked back at him, knowing with every fiber of her being that the image he presented in this moment, looking as rattled as she felt, would be seared onto her heart for the rest of her days. "I love you," she whispered quietly.

"And I love you," he said, "though I do not think we speak of the same kind of love."

She fled from the bitterness in his tone; from the hurt she had put in his eyes, from the confusing emotions he made her feel. She fled from their beautiful garden and the ruin that such a wonderful evening had become. She fled from her nearly overpowering urge to return to him, wrap her arms around him, and hold on tightly as the fire of their passion consumed them both. Neither knowing nor caring where her feet were taking her, she ran as fast as she could down stair after stair toward the forest floor.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Orophin stood in the main living room of the domicile he shared with his brothers. Haldir had been the one to select the location, but both he and Rúmil had agreed with their middle brother that the choice was a fitting one for three senior members of the Forest Guard. Beneath them on the forest floor, both the armory and the stables were within eyesight and could be reached easily should the need ever arise. They had five adjoining rooms in total clustered within the upper branches of a mallorn. The height of their talan allowed them to look far into the distance of their realm each time they looked out the window.

Ordinarily their home was calm, a pleasant place to unwind after the rigors of patrol or a long day of training. Yet Orophin found little peace this night. He could still feel the frustration, anger, and worry that radiated from Rúmil during the banquet. And the scout who had just come to make a report had left behind echoes of his own disquiet.

He reached up to take a carafe of wine from the shelf overhanging the large dining table. When all the brothers were in from the borders, they made it a point to take their meals together. Orophin wondered how long it would be before they shared easy camaraderie over another meal as he poured himself a goblet of the fragrant red vintage.

The door opened and Orophin looked up to see Haldir step slowly into the talan. He looked decidedly the worse for wear. His hair was disheveled, his clothing wrinkled, and his expression was almost blank. The exhaustion pulling at the corners of his eyes was the only clue to any emotion he might be feeling. Given the scout's recent report and what Orophin knew of his brother's carefully laid plans for the evening, he already understood that things had not gone well with the Lady Isilmei.

"You just missed Dimaethor," Orophin observed. "He came to report that your lady rushed into the stables, mounted a horse, and galloped off into the forest."

Concern flared in Haldir's dark eyes as he considered the news.

"He wanted to know if you wanted him to detain her and return her to her home. Or to you."

Haldir shook his head as he sank heavily into a chair. He rested his elbows on the table and looked down at his hands. "No," he said quietly. "Let her go. She will stop well before she reaches the border."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know her."

Orophin nodded, accepting his brother's answer though he thought the evening's events reason enough to doubt its accuracy. "I told him to follow her, but not to approach her unless she attempted to cross the border. When she returns to the stables he is to inform us."

"Thank you, brother," Haldir looked relieved to know that she would be protected during her dark flight through the forest.

"I assumed you would go after her yourself if you wanted her returned."

Haldir gave him a silent look of appreciation before he glanced over his shoulder at the door leading to Rúmil's room. "Is he…" He let the question trail off to nothingness.

Orophin shook his head. "He has not come in yet. Given his current frustration, I suspect he will pass the evening with his friends in the City Patrol. He will find no rest this night." He paused as he inspected his brother's uncharacteristic dishevelment. "And it would seem that neither will you."

His brother's eyes were full of pain as he reached into his tunic and withdrew one of the combs he had so painstakingly painted for his lady. He turned the comb over and over in his hands, absently tracing his design with his fingertips.

Orophin's heart went out to his brother. He poured Haldir a generous serving of wine and set the goblet in front of him before taking an adjacent chair. "I saw her wearing them during the banquet. Did she give them back to you?"

"No." After a moment, he reached to pick up the goblet before continuing. "It fell from her hair as she fled." He swirled the dark liquid around before taking a long swallow. "I did not see it fall, but there it was as I was leaving the garden. I could not bring myself to leave it behind." He placed the comb on the table carefully, as though afraid he would break it.

Orophin gripped his brother's forearm, feeling some of the doubt and worry that Rúmil harbored about this matter. Haldir did not give his heart easily. For the young elleth to reject him was a deeply wounding blow.

"She is afraid, Orophin. Afraid of _me_," Haldir whispered brokenly as he shook his head in utter confusion.

"Why?" It simply did not make sense. Haldir had extended his friendship and his knowledge to the lady for centuries. There could be no doubt that he cared for her tenderly, placed her on a pedestal even. "Could she explain herself?"

"She treasures our friendship too much to lose it, she says," Haldir fought to control the thickness in his voice. "She worries that if things do not go well between us that I will no longer be her friend. She believes that she is not enough to please me."

That shocked Orophin. He had assumed that if the ward of the Lord and Lady turned down Haldir's suit, it would be because she did not find _him_ worthy. Not the other way around. His mind worked to understand this tangle his brother had found himself within. There were several very basic questions which he felt should be asked. "Does she have feelings for you that extend beyond your friendship?"

"Yes. Quite clearly." He clenched his hands around the goblet's stem as he stared at his wine.

"Is Rúmil correct?"

Haldir looked up with a sharp expression. "About what?"

"Is she too young for you?" His voice was gentle when he posed the question for he knew it was one that would anger Haldir.

"Phin…"

"No, hear me, brother," he said in effort to preempt Haldir's argument. "The matters you discussed with her tonight are those of a mature heart. Is she still so young in her own heart that she is incapable of grasping the magnitude of the gift you would give her?"

"No," Haldir said, his voice certain. "She understands. She...she is afraid to lose me."

"Not an unreasonable fear considering your position." Orophin felt his brow crease as he thought about the situation. "Can you promise her that she will not lose your friendship, no matter what else does or does not happen between you?"

Haldir stared hard at the comb lying on the table but made no answer. A chord of muscle bunched in his jaw.

"Ah," Orophin said as understanding dawned. "She is more perceptive than I believed her to be." He studied his brother for a moment before continuing. "Perhaps that is what motivates her apprehension, and her response to you. If you cannot love her enough to help her work through her fears so that she can be yours, then your only other option is to let her go."

Haldir's eyes snapped to his face. "Never!"

He leaned back in his chair and gave his brother a long, speculative look. "After the wounds she has inflicted upon you tonight, would you still choose her if she would have you?"

The anger faded from his face as Haldir returned his eyes to the comb. "Yes," he said. His tone was soft, but his conviction could not be doubted.

Orophin leaned forward to grip his brother's arm once more. "Then you should tell her that. After you have both had an opportunity to calm yourselves." They sat quietly for a moment as Orophin watched his younger brother lose himself in thought. He had one more topic he felt needed to be addressed. "This is exactly what Rúmil was worried about, by the by."

"What?"

"That she would wound you. He has a terrible way of showing it, but he looks up to you so. He worries that Lady Isilmei will cause you pain. And she has," he added, "though not for the reasons Rúmil supposed. Not everything is as much about social status as he would make it."

Haldir's expression was indignant. "If he thinks…"

Orophin raised a hand to stay him. "If you win your lady, Rúmil will overcome his objections. If he sees that she makes you happy he will become her greatest defender. Next to yourself, of course."

That brought a slight smile to his brother's face.

"Give it some time, my brother," Orophin counseled. "You deserve happiness. If she is truly the one you desire, you will find a way to bring her back to you. I saw her with you tonight – the way she favored you, the way she returned to your side as though drawn there every time you were parted. The way she worried over you after your argument with Rúmil. The look of love on her face when you danced with her. From where I stood it appeared that her heart is already yours. Help her see she cannot lose your friendship, no matter what, and I believe you will win her hand as well."

Renewed determination graced his brother's expression. "Thank you, brother."

"Good night," Orophin replied as he rose and went to his own room so that Haldir could be alone with his thoughts.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Regrets and Fears**

Isilmei slipped underneath the hidden garden's archway on silent feet. She did not realize she had been holding her breath until she let it out as she discovered that she was alone. She had been torn between wanting to find him here and hoping that the garden would be empty.

She fought the urge to curse at the confusion Haldir planted within her, and at the hurt she had planted within him. She hated herself for her uncertainty but understood that it meant she had been right when she told him that her naïveté would be a burden to him. Obviously, it was. The painful darkness in his eyes when she left him proved her correct.

She peered down at the grass as she slowly and carefully stepped around the garden. She had not realized until she arrived home as dawn broke through the forest's canopy that one of her beautiful combs was missing. She could not bear the thought of being without them both, as they were all of Haldir she had left to hold. Part of her ached to hold him, while another part wanted to pummel him for all the overwhelmingly sweet words he had said to her in this very spot as well as the pressure she felt to live up to his image of her. It was an intolerable mix of emotions that she was unprepared to master.

She had come looking for his gift as soon as her grandparents were safely occupied by their duties. If it had not fallen here when he ripped his hands from her hair, it must have fallen as she took her frantic ride through the forest. She had stayed well within the borders, but had covered far too much territory to have any hope of recovering such a small thing from the forest floor.

Tears of frustration crowded behind her eyelids as she realized that she had ruined his lovely gift by losing one of the combs. She had ruined _everything._ With a heavy heart she took a last long look at what she would always think of as "their" garden before sadly turning for home.

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She had hoped that bringing her granddaughter to the Mirror on such a sanguine night would provide answers for the questions plaguing the young one's heart. Galadriel had felt joy for her granddaughter during the banquet, marveling along with her husband that even in the midst of all the turmoil being imposed upon them from outside their borders, great joy and hope for the future could still be found in the beauty of a well-made match. Celeborn had almost managed to lay aside his worries regarding Isilmei's suitor as he watched their granddaughter and her Marchwarden float across the dance floor. When their little pearl had not come home, Celeborn had been about to summon the City Patrol to search for her until Galadriel had received a brief vision of their little one riding through the forest – upset but in one piece – and understood that she needed some time alone with her thoughts before speaking to anyone.

In the days that followed the banquet, Galadriel had seen their Chief Marchwarden only once – when he had helped the members of the Ringbearer's company load their small boats and then stood as part of her retinue to clad the Fellowship in Galadhrim cloaks and watch as they rowed away from shore. Isilmei had been a dim shadow of her usual bright self as she stood stiff and cold beside her grandfather. Isilmei had refused to meet Haldir's eyes when he attempted to find her, choosing instead to swiftly flee in the direction of home as soon as the Fellowship disappeared around a bend in the river.

It grieved Galadriel that her ward was so close to throwing away a very happy and well-suited match, even though she knew that it had been a possibility from the start. Isilmei's road to love would not be a smooth one, and would be filled with dark twists and turns. Galadriel was frustrated because her granddaughter's future was but one of many things obscured by the Deceiver's threat to Middle-earth. So much was uncertain in these days of turmoil that it was difficult to see anything clearly. It was in effort to gain some insight about Isilmei's future that they had come to the Mirror.

Galadriel watched as Isilmei raised a slender arm to tilt the urn and fill the Mirror's bowl. When her ward carefully set the silver carafe down next to the Mirror's base, Galadriel began to speak. "Remember what we have practiced, Isil. Clear your mind and lay aside your cares. You will not be able to _see_ if your heart is clouded with worry."

Her young one took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly, allowing her eyes to close as her unlined face relaxed and became still. Her hands rested lightly upon the Mirror's base to steady herself.

Satisfied with Isilmei's efforts, Galadriel stepped back to give her granddaughter a feeling of independence. She would be able to see whatever the younger elleth saw, but Isilmei had to learn to control her visions on her own without Galadriel hovering near.

"The gift of foresight can be as much curse as gift unless you learn to control your visions' effects upon you and interpret their messages wisely. The Mirror will show you what concerns you most, as well as what you most _need_ to know. Some images will be echoes of your past. Some will be glimpses of your future, and some will be of alternate futures you could have depending upon your choices. The challenge lies in knowing the difference among them."

Isilmei opened her eyes and looked into the Mirror. The water's surface reflected back only the image above it – that of a beautiful young elleth wearing a pale lavender dress and a look of wistful sadness in her wide blue eyes.

"Try again," Galadriel instructed.

Dutifully her ward closed her eyes and took several more calming breaths. Her fine features became serene. After a moment she opened her eyes again, and this time the Mirror revealed an image that Galadriel watched over Isilmei's shoulder.

She glimpsed a bedchamber alight with the buttery glow of candles. Haldir reclined on his side with a white sheet draped over the lower half of his long body. The candlelight cast shadows that defined the chiseled muscles of his chest and arms. His long pale hair was unbound and hung freely to frame his rapturous expression. Isilmei lay on her back next to him and raised her arms to pull him closer as he leaned down to kiss her.

Isilmei gasped, jerking away from the Mirror as though scalded. She turned her back to Galadriel but was unable to hide the waves of shame radiating from her body.

Galadriel paused for a moment to contain her mirth, for she had long ago lost the bashfulness of youth. "Isil, my pearl, you have not bonded with him and neglected to tell me, so why are you embarrassed?"

"You should not have seen that," her granddaughter said as she buried her face in her hands.

Galadriel smiled. "It may be that the Mirror has just shown you your bonded mate. You both looked very happy. Tell me why that does not bring you joy."

When her granddaughter composed herself enough to turn around and face her, Galadriel indicated that they should sit upon a nearby length of mallorn root which twisted to form a bench.

As Isilmei stared at her hands in her lap, Galadriel realized she would have to smooth the path to conversation. "My own visions were initially of a personal nature," she confided. "It was only with time and practice that I learned to call forth visions of far away lands and specific events affecting our people. I did not always possess the skill that I now have, and even I have to work to strengthen my abilities. I see much, but not everything."

Her granddaughter regarded her shyly through lowered lashes. "Did your gift show you that Grandfather was to be your mate?"

"Yes," she answered with a fond smile of remembrance. "I saw him in a vision that came to me in slumber before I ever laid eyes upon him. And so I knew him as surely as I knew myself when we met."

"Did it frighten you?"

"Which? The vision, or meeting the ellon who was to become my husband?"

"Meeting Grandfather."

Galadriel put her arm around Isilmei's shoulders. "Not at all. I was overjoyed, for I had seen how much we would love each other. And we should never be frightened of true love."

Isilmei thought about her words for a moment. "Does that mean I am to be bonded to Haldir?"

Galadriel inclined her head to one side. "One thing you will learn is that your path can be set, but it can also be changed by your choices, and by the choices of others. It is quite possible that he could be your match. And I believe he would be a good match for you, but only if you _both_ decide that your bonding is what you want."

Her granddaughter blushed and cast her eyes downward once more.

"Why does that frighten you so?"

"I do not fully understand it myself," Isilmei answered with a look that suggested she dearly wished to understand.

Galadriel decided to try another path to uncovering the truth. "Tell me about your feelings for him."

"I love him," Isilmei began with certainty. "I have always loved him. It is the constancy of his presence in my life that makes me frightened of any change. I have grown accustomed to how things _are_. I treasure his friendship, in fact, I depend upon it. How do I _know_ that what he proposes will make us both happy? How do I know that the love I feel for him is like that which you feel for Grandfather, rather than some other kind of love?"

She thought she began to understand. Her ward had been too young to remember her parents when they were killed, but she had ever been uncomfortable with change. Galadriel knew that Isilmei was devoted to herself and Celeborn, but even so Isilmei's mind equated change with loss. She had ever tended to view any event that changed her life with unease. Haldir's sudden profession of love – which she had only learned about after careful prying into Isilmei's abrupt and uncharacteristic despondency – must have been quite a shock to her. "Do you trust Haldir?" She asked. "Do you believe in his wisdom and his judgment?"

"Of course I do!" Isilmei's expression was indignant, which was an oddly encouraging sign to Galadriel.

"Then is it really so very difficult to trust in his dreams for your future?"

Isilmei, ever the thoughtful creature, considered her words carefully. "I have been so worried that I am not enough for him that I had not thought about it that way."

Galadriel was confident that she could allay at least this fear as she smiled and squeezed her granddaughter's shoulders. "You can safely lay down that concern. He loves you just exactly as you are, my little one. He thinks you perfect for him, and if you are unsure of that, all you needed to do was take in the way his eyes followed you about the banquet hall. Had Prince Legolas not taken the slight so graciously, our Marchwarden could have created a diplomatic incident between us and Mirkwood when he stole you from the prince's arms."

Her eyes grew wide. "I was not aware of any incident?"

"I did not think you were, for you only had eyes for Haldir."

Galadriel watched as a new awareness, a growing sense of peace, began to settle over her granddaughter's features. She thought it wise to offer a warning her husband would surely want delivered. "Do not mistake me, Pearl. Your grandfather and I would not have you hurried into a bonding ceremony." She looked at her ward sharply. "And given our family's position, we would expect you to wait for a proper period of betrothal _and_ a bonding ceremony."

The flush beginning in her granddaughter's cheeks reached all the way to the tips of her ears. "Of course."

She allowed her tone to soften as she was convinced her warning had been understood and would be obeyed. "When the time is right for love, you will know it. You will be as certain of your mate as I have always been of mine."

Isilmei leaned forward to hug her. "Thank you, Grandmother."

She hugged her young one back. "Give yourself some time, and then talk to Haldir. You will not resolve your concerns by running away from him." As she up straight once more, she took Isilmei's chin in her hand. "You are braver than that."

Her granddaughter nodded dutifully. "Yes, Grandmother."

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Decisions and Plans**

It was three weeks since Haldir had held Isilmei in his arms. He knew precisely how long it had been because he had counted each hour. He had respected her wish for distance, but it had been a painful and restless stretch of days. Faithfully he had visited the cozy hanging garden in hopes of finding her there but there was never any sign of her. Nor had she appeared in any of the places where she used to come looking for him – the archery range, the dining hall, the stables were all somehow quieter and dimmer without her presence.

He had even tried visiting the other places she frequented, places where he had always been able to find her in the past. The Chief Healer had told him that she had not seen the Lady Isilmei in days and asked that he inform her if he learned that she was unwell. The library, their favorite spots in the forest, the tree in which she had been playing her ridiculous game and in which he had surprised her when he returned to the city leading the Fellowship – all were empty of her light. He had even sought out Lady Malfinhel to inquire after Isilmei, who told him that her friend had been feeling weary and was keeping mostly to her rooms. She did not _say_ that he should not go there, but Haldir had understood through the politely distant way she spoke to him that his presence was not welcome in Isilmei's residence.

As time passed and she did not even have the courtesy to send a message to him, he grew disappointed with her poor manners. She had told him with tears hanging on her thick dark lashes that she loved him. Even if she was unsure of the _nature_ of her feelings for him, was her silence a fitting way to treat one she professed to love? Undeniable passion had flared between them when he kissed her. She had clung to him and returned his kisses with all her might, surprising him with the strength in her slender arms and the ferocity of her desire for him. How could she pretend that none of that had happened? How could she shun him so? Was this how she repaid centuries of friendship? If so then perhaps she was right – perhaps she was not the elleth he had believed her to be.

His bitter thoughts occurred to him repeatedly, and yet every time he felt his anger build to a cauterizing fire, the image of her tear-streaked face swam before his eyes. The sight of her fragile body contorted with emotional pain he had inflicted upon her shamed him regardless of the fact that the wounds were unintentional. He supposed that was what they had in common at the moment – each of them had harmed the other, unintentionally but undoubtedly. His arms ached to hold her, to take comfort from her as he dried her tears. He wanted nothing more than to soothe her fears until a luminous smile returned to her lovely face and her eyes shown with the bright blue of a clear summer sky.

He had always been able to ease her concerns in the past, and he hated the thought that he was the cause of her current upset and could not resolve it. She had endearingly and faithfully trusted him to fix whatever was broken in her life. He recalled a time when she was less than a dozen years old. A toy had fallen from her windowsill and broken into several pieces. As he climbed the stairs to bring news to her grandparents, she had run toward him with the pieces in her hands and fat tears on her round cheeks. She had trusted him so implicitly then, with such a small thing. Years later her favorite horse tripped and fell when she was out riding with several other ladies of the court. One of the animal's legs was badly turned so the Master of Horses felt the mount should be destroyed. She had run to Haldir's home as fast as she could, arriving breathless and upset as she pushed open the door without knocking, begging him to intervene in the matter so the animal could be saved. She had come to him then rather than going to the grandfather she so adored – that was how completely she trusted him. After all their long years of faithful friendship, how could she not find it within herself to trust him now?

She loved him – he was certain of it. That their long-standing friendship had bloomed into love was as natural as the sunrise. Why did it frighten her so? Since when had anything about him frightened her? How could the tenderness, the passion, growing between them possibly pose a threat? She had always believed in him before. He had to find a way to show her she could trust him still, that their friendship could deepen into something infinitely more precious if only she would let it.

The more he thought about the mess between them – a mess he had made, he realized, by pouring out his heart before he stopped to gauge whether or not she was ready to hear his words – the more miserable he became. Days passed and he itched for any activity to occupy his hands and mind. He made frequent trips to the borders, but was unable to stay there more than a few hours before turning once again for Caras Galadhon in the hopes of seeing her. His brooding presence had caused even brash Rúmil to tiptoe around him and he was well aware that in recent weeks he had fully lived up to his reputation for being cold, aloof, and arrogant. His troops were trained and drilled within an inch of their lives.

He sat at the dining table he shared with his brothers fletching a large pile of arrows and trying his best – and failing entirely, he realized – to keep his thoughts off the enameled comb resting on his pillow and the confounding elleth to whom it belonged. He reached for another arrow shaft as Rúmil burst through the door. Anticipation and excitement lit his brother's angular face.

"Come quickly. There is to be a war council. The Fellowship is broken and Rohan is under attack." Without waiting for a reply, Rúmil spun on his heel and ran from the room, with Haldir following close behind him.

When they reached the Council Chamber, Haldir found it filled with members of both the Forest Guard and City Patrol. Lord Celeborn stood with Lady Galadriel and Amathon, the commander of the City Patrol – wardens who formed an inner ring of security for Lorien's people between Caras Galadhon and the borders. They appeared to be examining a large map.

Rúmil moved to join Magolchon as Haldir approached the Lord and Lady and his fellow commander.

"Ah, Haldir, there you are," his Lord said by way of greeting. The Lady peered at him closely as he exchanged acknowledgements and turned his attention toward the map.

Amathon pointed at a frequently used river crossing near the southern border. "If our forces cross at this point they will be able to pick up some time."

Haldir shook his head. "That stretch of the bank is patrolled by warg riders. Any forces we send that way will come under attack."

Lord Celeborn glanced up from the map. "The people of Rohan have sought refuge at Helm's Deep. The Lady has seen that King Théoden has the aid of the ranger Aragorn, Legolas Thranduilion, and Gimli son of Gloin, but the Rohirrim are far to the north. Saruman has built an army of Uruk-Hai and orcs to destroy Théoden's people. "

Haldir exchanged a look with Amathon at the news that Rohan's fighting horse soldiers were so far away when they were most needed by their king. Sauron's fell power must be involved. As he turned his attention back toward the map, he pointed to a better path. "If we march our forces to the west, and have them cross the Celebrant here and then move down the Nimrodel instead of traveling farther east they will avoid the wargs without losing much time."

Four heads bent over the map in thought. Lord Celeborn nodded approvingly. "It is a good plan. Come." He gestured smoothly for Haldir and Amathon to join their troops.

As the commanders stepped away from the table the chamber quickly fell silent. All eyes turned to the Lord and Lady of Light as they stood before their warriors.

Lord Celeborn's face was grave as he stood beside his Lady. "The war for Middle-earth has begun," he said. "Saruman has sent an army of more than ten thousand to destroy the people of Rohan. Sauron's forces prepare to march on Gondor. If Rohan is destroyed, the strength of men will surely fail."

He let his heavy words sink in for a moment during which it was so quiet in the hall that not even an intake of breath could be heard. The Lady's voice rang out solemnly from the front of the room. "The Time of the Eldar is ending. Our power protects our own realms, but is not sufficient to defeat the combined might of Orthanc and Mordor. Though the Age of Men approaches, there is not yet enough power in them to defeat Sauron and his allies. The future of Middle-earth balances on the edge of a blade."

Haldir felt the full weight of the dangers of the outside world press heavily inward on the sanctuary the Lady's power wove around Lorien. Ordinarily he could forget much of the world beyond when he was away from the borders, but he knew without doubt that the strength of even Lorien was fading. These were dark days indeed.

"Long ago there was an Alliance of Men and Elves," Lady Galadriel continued. "Some of you fought in that battle." Her eyes briefly sought out several ellyn in the room. "Men will fail if we do not make a last stand with them," she intoned, "and yet it is a dangerous task. Many of those who undertake it will not return."

Silence reigned once more as each and every elf heard the weight of the Lady's words. Her gift of foresight left no doubt that many standing in the Council Chamber tonight would soon be making their way to the Halls of Mandos.

"We will not order you to do this," Lord Celeborn said quietly. "We can only present the facts to you and support your decisions to go or to stay. It is much to ask of a people who could otherwise sail peacefully into the West. Those of you who choose to march will meet some of Lord Elrond's archers just south of our borders."

As Haldir thought of Lorien, his home for well over a thousand years, he could not suffer the triumph of Orthanc and Mordor. If men failed, the dark forces would quickly turn their black attentions toward destroying all the Elves that remained on Middle-earth. A flash of her laughing eyes and happy smile flitted across his mind. Evil must not be allowed to touch these woods, or those who dwelled here. He stepped out from the crowd with his head held high, purpose filling his eyes as he put his hand over his heart in a gesture of deference to his Lord and Lady. "I will go," he said in a clear, strong voice. He felt sure that most of his Forest Guard would volunteer as well.

Haldir was quickly flanked by both of his brothers. Within a few minutes, more than two hundred of Lorien's best warriors had volunteered to stand once again with mankind. Lord Celeborn's eyes were both proud and sad as he appointed Haldir the commander of Lorien's army.

With little ceremony the room emptied except for the Lord and Lady, Haldir, Amathon, and the other guard leaders. They had much to prepare and very little time. The army must march by morning, and the holes left by the volunteers in the Forest Guard and City Patrol must be covered so that the realm would remain protected.

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An hour before dawn, Haldir was finally able to return to his home. He hastily stripped off his tunic and pulled on a clean one before strapping on his armor and filling his quiver with arrows from the pile he had left on the table. He set aside others for each of his brothers to carry. As he returned to his room to gather up the scarlet cloak and slip his sword into the scabbard hanging at his hip, his eyes fell on Isilmei's comb. He had hoped to go to her, in spite of the gentle discouragement Lady Malfinhel had given him, before his army marched for the border but there simply had not been time. His archers had questions and needed his advice on any number of matters large and small.

The new perspective provided by the threat to Rohan and their approaching mission gave him some peace about his last meeting with Isilmei. Orophin was right. Haldir knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that he loved her, and that they were perfectly matched together. His recent impatience was motivated out of joy and longing – eagerness to start their life together before they sailed into the West – but the effect of his enthusiasm had been disastrous as it pushed her away from him. He had decided as he helped his troops prepare to march that his time in Rohan should give her the freedom she needed to come to terms with her feelings. When he returned to Lorien he would find her and tell her that there was nothing she could say or do to cost her his friendship. He had waited thousands of years for her, so he was prepared to wait as long as it took her to be ready for him. He would find a way to tell her that even if he had to convince her grandfather to order her to sit still long enough to hear him.

He lifted her comb off his bed and clutched it in his hand as he pictured her face. She was dressed in the deep blue gown and her hair was pulled back from her face in the warrior's braids he had placed there. She looked up at him and her eyes glowed in the candlelight as he swept her into his arms for another dance. As he thought of her, he whispered a soft prayer that she would feel his love, his understanding and his patience, no matter how much distance separated them.

Haldir tucked the comb inside his tunic next to his heart and left the room.

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He grabbed the pile of arrows his brother had set out for him and quickly left his home. He pulled the door closed behind him with a loud thud as he was the last of the three of them to retrieve his supplies and the talan would be uninhabited until they returned. Rúmil's determination and pride were fixed on the mission ahead. He knew that they could make a difference and save Théoden's kingdom of men. While he had never held much fondness for men – they were loud and crass and careless for the land upon which they lived – his warrior's heart had no doubt that it would go ill for all peace-loving peoples if Sauron was allowed to triumph. And so he would not be. He glanced down toward the practice grounds where the troops were assembling into long lines. Some of the families of the volunteers swarmed around the lines.

Rúmil frowned at the sight. He had disagreed strongly with his brother's decision to allow families to gather on the practice grounds. The troops needed to be focused on the battle ahead, not on consoling their family members. But Haldir had overruled him, saying that for some, a last chance to embrace those they loved could provide the focus and motivation they needed to win the battle and return home in victory. Rúmil scoffed at the comment, knowing exactly of whom Haldir thought.

As he reached the forest floor, he was surprised by the swiftly moving figure of the very same elleth approaching the archery fields. She was so focused on her destination that she did not notice Rúmil until he reached out and snagged her arm as she passed by.

She gasped in surprise as she whirled about to face him. Her eyes grew wide with recognition. "Rúmil! I thought you would be with your brothers."

"I am on my way," he replied stiffly. Before she could speak further, he demanded, "Where do you think you are going?" He was well aware that his posture and demeanor were threatening as he loomed over her. He meant for them to be.

Her expression showed both surprise and trepidation as she regarded the set of his features and pulled her arm out of his grasp, yet she managed to raise her chin determinedly and look him in the eye when she answered. "I am going to find Haldir."

"To do what, _Lady_ Isilmei? Reject him once more? Have you not hurt him enough already?"

Her face fell. One of her small white hands lifted to her mouth as her lips formed a little round 'oh.' Tears sprang to her eyes. "I do not want to hurt him, Rúmil. Ever."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want…" her face was conflicted as she weighed how much she should say. "I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I wish him safety and success on his journey, and that I will be waiting for him when he returns."

As she looked at him her large blue eyes begged him to understand. It was a plea that would not be answered. "No," he said, determined that if he had to tie her to the base of this tree, she would not distract his brother's attention to his duty at this critical moment.

"No?"

She clearly had no idea why he was so insistent. He realized he would have to explain it to her, hoping his brother had not been exaggerating when he had praised her as a quick study. "Haldir has been made Commander of our forces. He has been up all night discussing battle strategy and reassigning patrols so that the borders will remain protected while we are away. He must be _focused_ as we prepare to march. You turn his attention from all else but yourself," He noted with satisfaction that shame crept into her expression as he berated her. "Do not do that to him now. Allow him to be the leader his soldiers _need_ him to be."

She swallowed her tears as she nodded stiffly. "You are correct, of course," she relented as she cast her eyes downward and tried to compose herself. "I will go."

He sighed deeply, some of the tension draining from his frame now that he would not have to physically remove her from the area. "Thank you," he said with surprise as he realized he meant it.

He turned to leave but she put out a hand to grab his elbow. He turned back to her not because he wanted to, but because of the allegiance he felt for his brother.

"Would you tell him what I said? When you deem the time to be appropriate?" she pleaded. "I have done much thinking these past weeks and have realized that he was right in everything he said to me. Tell him I owe him an apology when he comes home. Please."

Rúmil's instinct was to refuse her outright, but the soft blue of her eyes as she beseeched him and the sincerity in her gentle voice were too strong a pull to ignore. She was so disarmingly earnest and genuine, as though Haldir's heart was the most important thing in the world to her. He thought he could see some of what his besotted brother saw in the slender young elleth. No doubt the aura of innocence and vulnerability around her would summon forth Haldir's protective instincts in force. And there was no doubt that his brother loved her – placed her upon a pedestal even. Knowing the depth of Haldir's feelings for the elleth and feeling momentarily swayed by her plea, he reluctantly agreed. "Very well."

With a relieved nod and a wide smile of thanks, she turned back toward the city. He intended to watch her go to make sure that she would stay gone, but her words festered in his mind. For his brother's sake he had to know whether or not she was _sure_ about her feelings or if she was playing some kind of tormented game. He could not stand blithely by and watch his brother be hurt. If she was toying with Haldir's loyal heart, then not even her guardians would be able to protect her from Rúmil's wrath.

He snaked out an arm and grabbed her roughly by the elbow. Her eyes were frightened as she was jerked around to face him once more, which was when he realized that he had used more force than he intended. It did not matter, however, because she must be made to understand the serious implications of her words. "Is what you said true? Do you truly love him? Do you?" He gripped her other arm as well and shook her as she stood there gaping at him.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Confessions and Promises**

Rúmil should have returned some time ago. Orophin had volunteered to collect their wayward brother, but Haldir had taken the task on himself and strode briskly for the stairway leading up to his home. His mind had been a swirl of assignment rosters and maps and patrol schedules for hours. Since there was no one at the practice grounds to wish him safe journey, he preferred the few moments of quiet that the walk home afforded him to clear his mind and collect himself for the task ahead.

As he rounded a slight bend in the trail, his eyes fell upon a most shocking sight. Rúmil stood just at the base of their home tree, gripping Isilmei by both arms and shaking her. Surprise and fear marred her face as she struggled to get away from him.

Haldir dashed toward them, fury with his brother warring with his confusion as to what could have caused the altercation before him. He gripped Rúmil's arm with one hand as the other landed against Rúmil's chest. With all his might he pushed his brother away from his lady as the three of them spoke almost simultaneously.

"Rúmil! What are you thinking?" Haldir demanded. "You _will_ answer for this."

"Well?" Rúmil demanded. "Do you?" In spite of Haldir's sudden appearance, Rúmil's raptor focus remained fixed on Isilmei.

"Yes," she answered fiercely. Her eyes darted toward Haldir as she took several steps back to distance herself from Rúmil.

Though Haldir was sturdier of frame than his younger brother, Rúmil was notably taller. An undeniable strength and ferociousness of spirit coiled within his brother's lean body. As Haldir stepped between them, putting Isilmei behind his back so that he could face his brother, Rúmil's cold gray eyes continued to bore into the elleth's face over the top of Haldir's head.

"Then do the honorable thing," Rúmil spat before turning stiffly and heading toward the practice grounds.

Haldir stood frozen in place as he tried to work out what he had interrupted. When he turned to face Isilmei, he found her still standing where she had stopped. Both arms were wrapped around herself as she massaged the places where Rúmil had gripped her so roughly. She wore a shocked expression.

"Did he hurt you?" He demanded as he peered at her closely to determine if she had been injured. "What was that about?"

"No. I…he thought I…" she stopped speaking when she raised her eyes and met his fierce gaze.

"Isilmei," he persisted. "Answer me."

She broke his stare and cast her eyes toward her toes. "He thought I should leave. I should not be at the archery fields."

Haldir knew that his brother disagreed with his decision to allow loved ones to see their soldiers off, but instinctively he also knew that there was more to what he had just witnessed than that. He waited silently for her to say more.

One of her hands dropped to worry the fabric of her cream-colored gown. Her eyes darted briefly to his face. "I wanted to see you before you left. Rúmil stopped me because he thinks that I am a distraction to you, one that you can ill afford."

He allowed himself a grimace. That sounded exactly like something Rúmil would say. He regarded her face and could not help thinking about how lovely she was, even with the mix of tension and anxiety clouding her expression. "You are distracting," he admitted softly. Remembering his promise to be patient with her concerns, he resisted the urge to reach for her. He would make no more unwelcome professions of love.

Her face fell. "That is not what I meant to be. Haldir, I am sorry. I should go."

"Wait," he said because he could not bear to watch her walk away from him again. Dreading what she might say in response, he asked, "_Why_ did you want to see me?"

She swallowed nervously and he could see the slight tremor in her hands. "Because I wanted you to know." She raised her eyes and held his gaze as though transfixed but could not bring herself to say more.

"What?"

"How sorry I am that I hurt you that night," she whispered.

He nodded his acceptance, his expression softening as he took in her contrition. "I owe you an apology as well."

She shook her head but made no comment. "And I want you to know how much…" She took a deep, shuddering breath and he held his as he waited to hear her next words.

"How much I love you," she confessed. There were tears in her eyes and Haldir felt his heart stop for a beat before lurching back into motion. "What happened between us in the garden was so…" She paused and seemed to be looking for the right word, "…_powerful_ that it scared me. I am still afraid, but I have realized that my love for you is greater than my fear of losing you." She approached him slowly and placed a trembling hand on his arm. "I want to be with you. If you will still have me, I will be yours."

His eyes widened as he stared at her face. A quiet resolution underlay the nervousness in her expression. A dam broke inside his heart as the anger and bitterness he had been feeling these last weeks evaporated like so much mist before the morning sun. Yet he was concerned that too strong a reaction would cause her to run from him once more. He slowly raised a hand to slide the backs of his knuckles over her smooth cheek. "My dear, old friend," he whispered. "I love you so tenderly."

She stepped closer to him until barely an inch remained between them. He was suddenly very aware of the weight and bulk of his armor and thick red cloak as they prevented him from feeling the softness of her curves against his body. She slid the hand on his arm downward to entwine their fingers. With the other she pressed his hand to her cheek. Sensation rushed through him as she turned her beautiful face into his hand to place a kiss on his palm. Haldir felt the flames of his passion for her grow as she nuzzled her nose against his skin.

A small, seductive smile curled up the corners of her mouth as she raised herself up on her tiptoes. "My charming, handsome, wonderful friend," she said in a voice as soft as velvet as she placed three sweet kisses down his jaw line from his ear to his chin. It was just the same as he had done to her that night in the garden, and he felt his blood fire in response.

His control slipped and his arms closed around her to crush her against his body as much as his obstructive trappings would allow. "Isilmei." He kissed her hungrily, delighting in the unabashed way in which she returned his embrace. "I was going to find you when I returned," he confessed between kisses.

"You were?"

"Yes. To promise you that there is nothing you could do or say that would cost you my friendship. Regardless of what happens between us otherwise, you will always be able to rely upon me."

As she wound her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly he felt the tines of her comb pressing into his chest. He released her long enough to slip a hand inside the neck of his breastplate so that he could remove it. She gasped when he held it out to her.

"Ai! Your beautiful comb. I have searched and searched for it. I was devastated that I had lost it." She took it and ran her fingers reverently over the design.

He raised one eyebrow and gave her a rakish grin. "It must have fallen out when I was kissing you. I found it in our garden."

She blushed to the tips of her adorably pointed ears. A smile lit her eyes as an idea dawned. "Take me back there when you return," she said as she stepped back into his arms. "Take me back so that we may have the moment you meant for us to share the night of the banquet."

He found that a most excellent suggestion. "I will. We will go there every night if it is what you desire."

Her voice was husky as she leaned into him and raised her lips to his. "What I desire is you, Haldir."

As his passion flared anew and the tide of his emotions threatened to sweep him away, he glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure there were no other elves nearby. Satisfied that everyone who intended to gather at the practice fields was already there, he was delighted to find himself alone with his delicious love. He lifted the comb from her palm and slid it into her shining tresses as she smiled at him. Afterwards, he gave in to the urges burning within him as he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other behind her head as he backed her against the bole of the tree. He cushioned the back of her head as he leaned her against the trunk before letting his hands roam where they would.

"I am sure your grandparents will want a betrothal ceremony as well as a binding ceremony," he rasped between kisses.

"Yes," she whispered against his mouth as her hands touched his face and fisted in his hair. When he traced her lips with his tongue her back arched reflexively, pushing her body against his.

"Can you arrange it while I am away so that I may place the ring on your finger as soon as I return? Will you wear my naneth's betrothal ring?"

"Yes. Ai, yes."

He trailed hungry kisses down the elegant column of her neck to her collarbone and tasted the hollow between her collarbone and throat – the same one he had exposed so tantalizingly to his own view when he stood in her chamber and braided her hair. The hand he held at her waist rose to explore the contours of her curves through the fabric of her dress. Imagining how it would feel to touch her this way after stripping away the barriers between them nearly made him weak at the knees. When he lifted the firm weight of her breast and cupped her in his hand, they both moaned and her legs buckled beneath her. He caught her swiftly and surely in his arms, leaning her backward so that the tree could more securely support her.

"Haldir!"

The fever in her voice as her slender hands clawed at his shoulders and chest excited him, though he had never been less pleased with the weight and thickness of his armor. He pressed kisses from her breast to her throat, his lips lingering on every inch of exposed skin he could find. He inhaled the delicate floral scent of her skin and hair, pulling as much of her as he could into his senses and fixing her in his memory so that he could recall every second of their time together during their separation.

"How long must we wait for our binding day?" he whispered as clearly as his ragged breathing would allow.

"I will talk to them," she panted, "and I will bind myself to you as soon as we have their blessing." She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him to her greedy lips, thrilling him with the eager way she gave and took pleasure.

Haldir could not remember a time in all his years when he had been happier than he was in that moment, even with the threat of battle looming ahead. Building a future with her, exploring their passion, would be the most exhilarating experience of his life – he was sure of it. And someday, he would see her hold his elfling in her arms. "Talk persuasively," he begged against her lips as her hands slid down his back to grasp his hips and pull him more firmly against her as she pressed herself into him.

"I will. I want to be yours."

"You _will_ be mine," he promised her. "And I am already yours." The momentous importance of those words, their implication for the rest of their long lives, arrested his roaming lips and hands. Overwhelmed by the tender abiding love he felt for her, awed by the promise of spending the rest of time with his beautiful, charming, enticing, sweet lady, he raised his hands to cup her face and look deeply into her eyes. "Isilmei, I love you," he told her. "Do you _know_ that? Do you feel it in your spirit?"

Her smile was soft and warm as she lifted her hands to his cheeks in a mirror image of his posture. "I do," she said and he could see the truth of it, as well as her elation and the love she held for him, in the liquid blue pools of her eyes. They were the color his imagination assigned to the sea and she had never been more radiant than she was in that moment as she pledged herself to him and gazed at him with such miraculous adoration in her eyes. "And do you know how much I love you, Haldir?"

Haldir felt a sudden shock as he experienced something surprising and new, and deeply moving. He could suddenly see himself through her eyes, as she had always seen him – tall and strong, a paragon of Elven honor and virtue. He was nearly undone by the respect within which she held him, nearly consumed by the brush of her deep, hopeful love, and the happy dreams she sheltered for their future. He could not explain the event except to suppose the Valar had provided him with a brief glimpse into the wedded-bond he would form with Isilmei, and yet he knew in that moment that he would do whatever it took to make each and every one of her dreams come true. He kissed her deeply and sweetly to seal the vow between them.

As he leaned back to look at her once more, he caressed her face and ran the pad of his thumb across her lips as he relished the slight swell and the deep pink blush his kisses raised there. He could not help the astounded huff of laughter that escaped his lips at the sudden realization that events had taken him rather far from the path he had originally charted for their courtship. It was out of character for him to behave so impulsively – to pledge their troth this way without first playing out his carefully planned suit. And yet it felt entirely right. Except for one thing…

She raised questioning eyebrows, and he smiled as he shook his head at his own folly. "I feel sure that this is not what your grandfather had in mind."

A wrinkle of concern formed between her brows. "Grandfather?"

"Well, I had _hoped_ we would someday have a moment like this, beloved, but when I spoke with him I sought only his permission to court you, not wed you." One corner of his mouth turned upward in a rueful smile. "There is something I must do upon my return which may prove more dangerous than any battle."

She laughed as she gripped his forearm and slid her other arm about his waist, her mirth shaking her shoulders. "Ai."

"Indeed. I had the distinct impression that your grandmother approved of my suit rather more than your grandfather. I do not know what his answer would have been if left to his own devices."

She rose on her tiptoes to kiss the end of his nose, the gesture incredibly intimate and dear to him. "Then we have nothing to worry about, my precious Haldir. Grandmother supports our match, and between the two of us, she and I will be able to overcome any objections he might initially raise." Her eyes took on a decidedly mischievous glint as she teased, "Remind me later to tell you what I saw in the Mirror."

He could feel a scowl form in response to her words, even as his eyes drank in her perfect face and the confident glow in her eyes. His thoughts of Lord Celeborn's reaction overshadowed her mention of the Lady's Mirror. "You think he will have objections?"

"To my growing up and becoming _a_ wife," she said as her lean fingertips traced one of his braids, "not to my becoming _your_ wife."

Mollified, he pulled her closer and feathered her face and neck with soft kisses. "May I keep the comb?" he asked as he felt a sudden desperation to keep some small part of her with him in the coming days.

A question once again creased her forehead.

He smoothed out the crease with one finger. "As a token of _my_ lady while I am away from you?"

She smiled happily and pressed the comb back into his hand before she pulled his face down to meld her lips with his. When she was finished adoring his mouth she gripped his face in both of her hands and leaned back to look deeply into his eyes. He saw the tears gathering in her cerulean eyes, but knew that they were tears of joy, not sorrow. "Go," she whispered through the thickness in her voice. "Go and then hurry back to me so that I may spend more time loving you."

He smiled down at her, reaching up to tap the tip of her nose with his index finger. "I will return to you. I swear it." With a final kiss, he wrapped an arm around her waist and escorted her to the practice field. Now that things were happily resolved between them, he felt a new sense of purpose and there was a lightness in his step he had not felt for weeks. He had no doubts that he would lead his troops to victory and return to his beloved lady. The forces of good would triumph – there simply was no other possible outcome.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Daydreams and Sorrows**

It was a tense, quiet night in Caras Galadhon. The Galadhrim could _feel_ that the battle was at hand. Most – especially those whose loved ones had volunteered to fight – had chosen to retire quietly to their homes with their families.

Isilmei was alone in her room, sitting on her bed with a sketchpad and quill in hand. She could feel the tension upon her grandparents' shoulders and knew that they keenly felt the weight of their responsibilities to their people, their worry for those soldiers in harm's way. The Wood seemed to worry as well, for there were none of the usual night noises that provided such a soothing lullaby for elfling and elf alike. It was as though Lorien and her people all held their breath in anxious anticipation.

She, however, was not worried. The army was led by none other than her beloved, Haldir, Chief Marchwarden of Lorien – an experienced and brave fighter. He had trained most of the elves who served under him for many centuries, and the fighting elves of Lorien were a deadly and efficient force against any enemy. They would be victorious, of that she had no doubt. The forces of light would win, and then Haldir would lead his archers back to the Golden Wood in victory.

She smiled a dreamy and contented smile as she thought of him. Excitement and joy filled her when she imagined the life they would build together. She could almost forget the hesitation which had at first clouded her mind when he confessed his love. It had been silly of her to be so afraid when there was so much happiness at hand. She had almost convinced her grandparents to allow the betrothal ceremony as soon as their forces returned. Their bonding ceremony would follow the instant her grandparents would permit it, and then she would be his bonded mate – _his_ lady, joined to him irrevocably until the ending of the world.

Flipping back through the sketches she had drawn earlier in the evening, she examined each image for flaws. The first page held a depiction of their garden. The swing sat to one side above a carpet of lush grass, and the trees were filled with flickering lanterns. She turned to the next page, which held several smaller sketches – his eyes with their dark brows arching over black lashes, his lips that were full and soft on her own, and his strong but gentle hands.

Down one side of the page she had sketched a rough silhouette of a gown she intended to wear on their binding day. She imagined it would be of the most delicate white fabric she could find. As she had tried to imagine the dress that would bring a smile to Haldir's handsome face, she had decided that it would skim her form before floating away behind her as she walked to meet him at the front of the assembly. She had only witnessed a few binding ceremonies, but she had no trouble envisioning the happiness in Haldir's eyes and the joy in her own heart when they spoke the vows that would unite them for all time.

She peered closely at the design she had sketched in the bottom corner of the page. Her binding dress would be decorated with embroidery and beading that depicted the golden elanor and pale green niphredil he had given her, as well as the butterfly created by the combs he so thoughtfully crafted for her. She would wear his combs in her hair on their binding day, and had thought about asking her grandfather to commission a new diadem for her that incorporated blue jewels so that her headpiece would match the beautiful butterfly combs. She added a few more touches to the butterfly. It was a complicated design, and so it would be necessary to begin on the embroidery as soon he returned. She could not wait for that day to arrive.

Sighing happily she turned to the unfinished sketch and dipped her quill in the inkwell. The image taking shape before her was a portrait of Haldir's face. She examined her work carefully. This sketch must be perfect, and must capture both the joy in his expression as she had promised herself to him as well as the love she held for him. She planned to give him the sketch when she welcomed him home.

A sudden stab of anxiety and sadness flooded into her heart from the direction of her grandparents' residence. She dropped her pad and quill and dashed for the door, knowing that the battle was begun.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Celeborn heard the swift tapping of Isilmei's feet as she ran to them, but knew she would be on the way even before he had heard her approach. The wave of agony that emanated from his mate would have been more than enough to alert their sensitive granddaughter that the fighting had commenced.

Galadriel sat upon the foot of a chaise lounge, her haunting eyes attuned to the battle taking place far away. He was unsure how much of their surroundings she took in when her visions grabbed hold of her, but he knew for certain that she saw every detail of the battle and felt every emotion experienced by their people.

Their young one pushed through the door, anxiety and concern imprinted clearly on her pretty features as her gaze went immediately to her grandmother. He held out an arm toward her. "Pearl," he called softly. Isilmei moved on quick feet to embrace him. He hugged her to his chest and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"Is she well?" Isilmei asked in a low voice.

He nodded. "She herself is fine, but she sees and feels everything that our people experience. She will not leave them until the battle is over. It could be a very long night."

Their pearl bravely nodded her understanding and moved to flank her grandmother from the other side. Celeborn's heart gave a painful thump inside his chest as he watched her sit lightly on the edge of a chair and pull in a deep breath to compose her features. He hated that he could no longer protect her from the events pressing in on their sanctuary. During Isilmei's short life, he and his wife had done everything in their considerable power to preserve their granddaughter's innocence. They had been careful not to trouble her with the dangers of the outside world and had delighted in their young one's infectious joy. Yet the situation was such now that there was nothing else he could do to shelter her. So many of the Galadhrim were in danger this night, not the least of which was Isilmei's newly-promised intended, that Celeborn knew without doubt that the coming hours would change Isilmei's life – he could only pray that their Marchwarden would return safely to her side.

Celeborn forced his worries aside and smiled fondly at his little one as she settled in to wait out the night with them. Isilmei was a thoughtful young elleth, one attuned to others' feelings who always sought to take away the pain and suffering of others. It was her empathy that made her such a gifted healer. He knew that she would not leave Galadriel's side until she withdrew from the vision, and he was glad for her company as he stood beside his wife to wait out the battle.

A stab of sorrow pierced his heart as Galadriel's perfect features crumpled in pain. "Magolchon," she said sadly as she continued to stare unseeing into the far corner of the room. "He is the first of us to fall."

One of Isilmei's small white hands floated to her mouth as she turned anxious eyes to him. He could do nothing more than nod silently to her. There was nothing any of them could do from so far away but believe that their troops would be victorious and whisper quiet prayers that the spirits of those lost would find their way swiftly and safely to the Halls of Mandos in Aman.

The three of them kept their tense vigil for hours. He paced back and forth across the room in effort to alleviate some of his tension, but Isilmei sat as still as Galadriel with her eyes riveted to her grandmother's face save for the brief, compassionate glances she sent his way. He clenched his teeth with each name Galadriel called, mourning for the loss of so many fine Elves and for the families and friends left behind. The casualties were so heavy there was no doubt that life would be forever changed for many of the Galadhrim, particularly after something – he was unsure exactly what, but some sort of explosion – wiped out a sizable portion of their soldiers in less time than it took for her body to jerk and cry out.

A new, fresh wave of torment emanated from his mate, and he felt the claws of dread deep in his belly before she spoke a word. He was on his way across the room to reach his girls as Galadriel held out her arms, the first indication she had given that she was aware of any other presence in the room since the battle had begun.

"Ai, my little pearl," Galadriel cried. "I am so sorry. He has fallen."

Celeborn watched as first denial, then horror, and finally a heart-rending suffering twisted their granddaughter's features. "No!" she screamed as she flew to Galadriel and dropped to the floor at her grandmother's feet. Galadriel enfolded her in her arms and Isilmei buried her face in his mate's skirt as sobs wracked her shoulders.

He sank to the chaise behind Galadriel, gathering both his girls in his arms and giving them what comfort he could. "May Namo summon them," he prayed. "May Nienna strengthen their spirits, and may they find healing in the Halls of Mandos." He tightened his embrace around his spouse and their granddaughter as the three of them sat and wept for the terrible night to end.

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Homecomings and Recoveries**

Rolling one last clean white bandage, Isilmei placed it on top of the pile and moved the basket back to the storage shelf. She cast her eyes about to take quick inventory and was satisfied that as much as they were able, they were prepared for the survivors who should soon be returning from Helm's Deep.

She pushed back at the grief that had twisted her insides since her grandmother said those terrible words. In the days since the battle she had felt as though she moved in a daze through a world that was darker and less safe than it had been before. It was unfathomable to her that the Valar would be so cruel as to reveal to her the love she and Haldir felt for each other, only to quickly snatch him away.

Roughly swiping at the tear sliding down her cheek with the back of her hand, Isilmei stepped out into the hall. The only way she had been able to maintain her dignity was to remain in constant motion. She was not the only one suffering, and she had a duty to her people. Her grandparents suffered too – particularly her grandmother who had experienced so much of the carnage through the eyes of her people – and yet they managed to attend to their duties. She was determined to follow their good example. Her desire to ease the pain of others and her duty to be strong for those who suffered were the only things keeping her on her feet. Her grief had propelled her to forego both rest and nourishment in the days since that terrible night for food made her nauseous and she feared the nightmares she was sure would find her in slumber. The few times she had dared close her eyes since the night of the battle her field of vision immediately swam with images of Haldir's face, deathly pale and contorted in agony. And so she refused to close her eyes anymore. She had to keep moving to hold at bay the tide of tears threatening to drown her.

The Chief Healer entered through the back door of the healing ward and nodded solemnly when she reviewed Isilmei's work. "I see that you harvested more horsetail from the garden. This pleases me. Have you begun making the salve?"

She shook her head. "No, Your Grace. Gilormen is working on it now. He will have it ready shortly."

"Good. We are as prepared as we can be, thanks in no small part to your tireless efforts. You are a credit to this ward, my dear."

She appreciated the warm sincerity in the esteemed healer's voice, but the look of pity in her eyes was more than Isilmei could bear. "Thank you," she said. "If you will excuse me I need some air."

The elder nodded in understanding and Isilmei stepped quickly through the back door and climbed the ladder up to the roof. From this perspective she had a good view of much of the forest floor. She drew in a series of deep breaths, willing herself to maintain her composure. As she gazed at the forest below her she thought she saw a flash of gold between two trees. To the right of the first, there was a bit of trailing gray cloak, along with the glint of sunlight off the scales of Galadhrim armor. She slid down the ladder and dashed back into the healing ward. "They are here," she called as she ran for the main entrance. "Our soldiers have returned!"

The assembled healers quickly made their way to the forest floor in the direction Isilmei indicated. A few dozen warriors looking decidedly the worse for wear walked singly and in small groups through the trees. Many were injured, and were held upright only by the strength of their companions. Isilmei's heart went out to them as she ran forward. Others had obviously been on the lookout as well, for the survivors were soon surrounded by family and friends offering aid and comfort.

She helped support Dimaethor, whose face was tight with his efforts to overcome his obvious pain, by putting her arm around his back. He limped heavily in effort to keep his weight off his damaged leg. "What happened to you?"

"I took an arrow through the thigh," he answered in a voice tight with suffering and exhaustion as he leaned heavily against her. "We treated it as best we were able, but it has been a long march."

"Your journey is over now," she assured him. "You will soon feel better. Once we have you settled I will summon your wife and sister."

He gave her a weak smile as they entered the healing ward. She guided him down the hall to one of the small rooms used for nursing patients. He groaned as she helped him lie down upon the cot, staying awake only long enough to sip from a cup of sleeping draught before falling unconscious.

She eased off his boots before cutting away the shredded fabric of his legging so that she could examine the wound. He was fortunate, for the cut was clean and would mend with time. As gently as she could in effort not to wake him, she bathed the wound and packed it with healing herbs that would dissolve as the injury healed before carefully stitching up the gash and bandaging it tightly. Her hands rested upon the sutures for a moment as she sent him some of her strength and willed his body's own innate healing abilities into swift action. If he followed instructions and gave himself a chance to heal properly, he would not even incur a scar. At least, not a physical scar. She was beginning to understand that few of their people would escape this war without emotional scarring.

As she put away the remaining supplies, she studied his angular face. He already seemed to be resting easier, but would no doubt sleep more soundly if she removed his armor. She carefully unfastened the buckles holding on his breast and arm plates and removed them as gently as she could. Dimaethor slept through the entire procedure. She smoothed a soft blanket up around his shoulders, tucked the ends around his feet, and turned down the lamp so that the room was lit with only the softest, most comforting glow. There was nothing more she could do at present for the elf before her, so she decided to move on to the next patient.

As she stepped out of the room, she recognized the lean figure at the far end of the hallway. She briefly thought of running to him and embracing him, but she quickly dismissed the foolish notion for surely he would not welcome an outpouring of emotion from her.

When he spotted her, he turned and stalked down the corridor. His long strides quickly ate up the distance between them. She did not miss the bandage obscuring half his left arm, or the glitter of hatred in his cold gray eyes.

"You," he spat.

"Rúmil…"

"Do _not_ say my name. It is a _curse_ coming from your lips."

She gaped at him, unprepared for the intensity of his viciousness to the point of being rendered speechless.

"It is your fault."

His words widened the crack in her foundation that had opened when her grandmother held out her arms and pronounced Haldir's fate. "No," she murmured as her legs grew numb beneath her.

"Yes. _Your_ fault. You could not leave him alone, could you?" Rúmil's voice rose with each word, and she was dimly aware of other healers poking their heads into the hallway to determine the cause of the disruption.

"You just _had_ to distract him as he prepared for battle. You could not stand it if his attention was focused on anything but yourself."

She shook her head in disagreement, but he ignored her.

"You stole his focus, and you stole his _life_!"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I…"

"Do not speak to me. You have nothing to say that I want to hear." His body shook as he reached into his tunic and withdrew a small object. He shoved it at her roughly, pushing the object against her chest so hard that she stumbled against the wall behind her. Her hands rose reflexively to grasp it. "I found that next to his heart."

Her hands unfolded and she heard a sob rip from her throat when she recognized the beautiful comb she had sent with Haldir as a token of their love. Through her tears she could see that the design he so carefully painted was obscured by dried blood. _'Ai no,'_ she thought as she realized the source of the gore. The healing ward began to spin around her.

"His blood is on your hands," Rúmil screamed. "If you had not confused him with your fickle heart, he never would have allowed the Uruk-Hai to come up behind him and cleave his head in two!"

Isilmei fought the urge to wretch at the image he implanted in her mind. As much as her own desolation, she could feel the black waves of anguished venom radiating off of him.

"You killed him! You killed my brother!"

In some dim corner of her mind Isilmei saw that Rúmil swung his good arm, his fist impacting solidly with the wall beside her head. She was unconcerned, however, because the tide of despair took her, overwhelming her senses and pulling her beneath its crashing waves as she sank to the floor at his feet.

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Orophin kept silent vigil beside the slim, unconscious form of his brother's beloved. The sun had come and gone and come again since his arrival, yet still she slept. The young healer he had relieved told him she had not moved since she was placed into the bed. Ordinarily a grieving elf would have been kept in the healing ward, but her guardians wanted her close so they could monitor her condition.

She lay with one arm folded across her waist. The other lay at her side and her tapered fingers were curled as though she held the hand of another. Orophin wondered if it were possible that somehow, in some other realm of existence, she held the hand of the ellon who had loved her so dearly. Her eyes were closed, an indication among their kind of the grievous nature of her condition.

He turned once more through the leaves of the drawing tablet he had found tucked between his chair and the wall. The garden depicted on the first page he did not recognize, but he had known at first glance to whom the eyes and hands on the second page belonged. The image of his brother's face smiled at him from the following page. Though the drawing was unfinished about the shoulders, she had perfectly captured Haldir's strong features. The softness in the eyes was something Orophin had not often beheld, but he was sure that it was a familiar expression to her.

Haldir had been destined to love this young elleth. Orophin had realized that fact long ago, long before Haldir himself had realized it. The sweetness of Isilmei's nature and the gentleness of her spirit softened Haldir's rough edges, taught him to be more patient. His middle brother had never been as short-tempered or outspoken as Rúmil, but his single-minded obsession with duty, his constant pursuit of excellence, had given him a hardness that Orophin found tiresome. Until, that is, a tiny winsome orphaned elfling had unlocked a tender place in Haldir's heart that she unknowingly nurtured even as he watched her grow and tutored her in languages and the ways of the forest. It had been duty that made him put down his bow and his sword and mentor the girl, but it was she who taught him how to be vulnerable enough to embrace the joy in life, and to love.

It had gladdened Orophin's heart to see Haldir escorting his lady toward the practice fields as the army prepared to march. The joy, the pride, and the honor lighting Haldir's face, the firm set of his shoulders communicated to all those assembled the confidence and readiness of their captain. The glowing lady at his side gazing up at him adoringly completed the image of love, the eager anticipation for their future and the future of their people. It was a picture of hope that came at a most opportune time for the worried Galadhrim.

The inevitability of the match had been so clear to Orophin that he had been surprised at the ferocity of Rúmil's opposition. He knew his brother's objections were not caused by the difference in age between Isilmei and Haldir as Rúmil claimed, for such differences were not uncommon among their people. Indeed, there was a notable age gap between the Lord and Lady themselves, which had clearly never caused a problem for them. Rather, Orophin believed it came from the consuming commitment to duty and defense which his younger brothers shared. Haldir had obviously decided it was possible to live up to his responsibilities while also allowing love into his life, but Rúmil did not see how the two conditions could possibly coexist. Perhaps if Rúmil had someone who could touch whatever soft places remained in his heart there would be more peace in his future.

Orophin was saddened by his thoughts of both his brothers – Haldir was lost, and it seemed Rúmil's grief would cause him to be lost as well. By appearances alone, Rúmil fared far better than the elleth lying in front of Orophin, but he knew the pain and the grief that ripped at Rúmil's chest with each inhalation and exhalation, for he shared it.

His brothers had always been more passionate than he. Rúmil considered Orophin's even-keeled nature to be his greatest failing, asking how he could lift a blade to fight when he never seemed to be angry about anything. Haldir had seen things differently, however, and often sought Orophin's counsel as he rose through the ranks of the Guard and achieved his dream of becoming Chief Marchwarden. In spite of their differences, the three of them had made a point to remain close to one another since their father was killed and their mother sailed into the West.

'_Is Haldir with Ada now?'_ he wondered. _'Is he at peace?'_ He hoped so, for there was little peace to be found in Middle-earth at present. The combined forces of Lothlorien and Imladris had been enough to hold Helm's Deep until the Rohirrim arrived with Mithrandir, but the war was far from over. Sauron still sought the Ringbearer and Gondor was under attack. Some in Lorien talked of joining the battle, but the Forest Guard and City Patrol had both suffered such heavy casualties already that further losses would leave the realm vulnerable. Orcs constantly pecked at the borders, looking for weaknesses, and Orophin knew that in the days to come their attacks would only grow bolder and more frequent.

Orophin could not imagine leaving his home defenseless, and honestly was not even sure he would be willing to march to Gondor if another army was organized. He could not risk leaving Rúmil without any family at all, even if he knew Rúmil would not share his concern. And he had difficulty imagining trusting another captain with his life the way he trusted Haldir.

Orophin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and smoothed a hand over his hair. He was deeply, truly sad, and this was a sad room in which to be; yet he could think of nowhere else to go that would be any happier. A slight movement on the bed caught his attention.

He sat up straight as his eyes focused on the pale form lying in front of him. Her fingers clenched as though fighting to hold on to something just as a low sound issued from her throat. Black lashes fluttered against pale cheeks as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Lady Isilmei," Orophin said as he moved to the bed and sat beside her.

Hope flared in her eyes as she raised a hand to touch the ends of his hair hanging down upon his chest. As her gaze traveled to his face, her expression fell and she withdrew her hand. Orophin realized with a stab of pain that she had briefly mistaken him for his brother.

"Orophin." Her voice was broken from disuse, and deeply miserable.

"Can you sit?" At her nod he shifted his position and slid an arm around her back to help her. She rested feebly in the crook of his arm. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," she whispered. At his skeptical look, she admitted, "Tired. Weak."

"Apparently you had stopped eating days before your collapse," he told her softly.

She shrugged as she pulled away from him and lay back on the bed.

"I promised I would alert your guardians should you awaken, but I am sure the Lady already knows." He smiled reassuringly at her, feeling confident that a visit from her guardians would comfort her.

Her expression was resigned as she watched him. "It is all right, Orophin. I can handle your words. You are entitled to them."

"I am not my brother," he said disapprovingly. "I did not come here to vent my own pain onto you."

"Then why did you come?"

He shrugged, all too aware that the weight of their situation pressed down invisibly but inexorably upon them both. "In part, because of duty. Haldir would not want you to be alone in your grief."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She turned her face away from him.

"And in part because of that grief. You and Rúmil and I will be forever bound together by our sorrow."

She turned her tear-swollen eyes back toward him, but remained silent. He was heartened that she was at least willing to hear his words.

"I believe that we will be better able to bear our burden if we share it together, rather than each of us trying to manage all on our own."

She reached out and took his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

He gave her a smile, small but the best he was able to manage as he felt tears prickling his eyelids. "Rúmil was wrong," he told her before swallowing past the lump in his throat. He needed her to understand that his brother had spoken out of turn – it was not Isilmei's fault that Haldir was taken from them.

She winced as she looked away from him again, but did not release his hand.

"I heard only part of what he said to you," Orophin continued, "but in that part at least, he was horribly mistaken. You strengthened Haldir's resolve, renewed his focus. You did not keep him from doing his duty. In fact, whatever you said to him the morning of the march was exactly what he needed to hear. I had never seen him happier, more hopeful. Or more determined."

Her shoulders trembled with the force of her tears. "Orophin, I love him so." Her gaze implored him to believe her as she fiercely squeezed his hand. "I am so sorry for your loss."

When she reached up to him with her free arm, he pulled her up into his embrace and hugged her tightly. "And I am sorry for yours, Isilmei," he told her as he felt his own tears begin to course down his cheeks. "You won my brother's heart, and so you have forever tied me to you in friendship. We will survive this together."

Before she could respond further, the Lord and Lady hurried through the door with the Chief Healer behind them. He gently gave her into the arms of her guardians before withdrawing from the room to release his own sorrow.

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Journeys and Arrangements**

(_Author's Note_: In this next section of the story, more time passes between scenes than in previous chapters. Said time often passes at uneven intervals, so you will see indicators of about how much time has passed between events at the beginning of some scenes. The aforementioned indicators begin in Chapter 13, but since this is the first chapter in the second 'phase' of the story I wanted to go ahead and mention it. This is intended to minimize confusion as much as possible. Also, I may be playing with Master Tolkien's timeline a little more than usual in this section. Please consider yourself forewarned.)

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"Look at her," Celeborn worried. "There is no joy left in her. She does not smile, she does not laugh. She moves as though her limbs were mired in molasses." He was so focused on his youngest grandchild that he barely noticed the passing landscape around them or the road that stretched out ahead of and behind them.

They were within a day's ride of Minas Tirith, leading the delegation to greet the newly-crowned Aragorn, King Elessar and unite him in marriage with their beloved granddaughter, Arwen Undomiel. The empty road around them allowed the Lorien party a certain freedom from courtly formality, though that would change on the morrow as they approached the city of men. Resplendent garb would be donned, banners would be unfurled, and lines would be formed according to protocol, effectively ending the quiet, easy trek through the gently undulating landscape. Except for those places they had passed which had been marred by war, it had been a surprisingly placid trip.

Galadriel's expression was grim as she watched the slumping shoulders of their granddaughter Isilmei riding ahead of them. "I fear Lothlorien is more hindrance than help to her now," she finally said. "Perhaps this journey to Gondor will help."

They rode in silence for a few moments, the quiet clopping of horses' hooves on the muddy road and the occasional equine snort providing quiet accompaniment to the murmuring voices of their traveling companions drifting up the loosely-formed caravan. Finally her quiet voice reached his ears once again. "Have you given any more thought to letting her sail with me?" she asked.

"No. She is not to sail. Not yet." He was adamant on this point.

Galadriel's mouth fixed in a firm line, but she did not offer an argument.

They had trod this ground already, several times in fact, and yet he could not resist the urge to reiterate his position. "You and I both know what will happen if she sails now," he grumped, huffing out a breath with such force that his concerned mount turned an ear back toward him. "She will wait and mope outside the Halls of Mandos day after day, refusing to move on with her life in the hopes that Haldir will be quickly released. But there are too many variables at play, too many unknowable factors. She cannot know – none of us can know – when he will be released, _if_ he will be released, what tasks he might receive from the Valar as a condition of his release, or even how he might feel about her after his sojourn in the Houses of the Dead. They were not bonded." He shook his head at the sad thoughts plaguing his mind. "I will not have her live as though she holds her breath for a day that might or might not ever arrive."

"You are angry with him," she finally said. It was not quite an accusation, but close.

"Yes, I am angry with him!" Celeborn said quickly, but felt regret as soon as the hasty words left his lips. "No, that is not entirely accurate," he amended. "I mourn his passing at the same time I honor his sacrifice. But I was right, and I dearly wish I had not been in this. I was worried he would hurt her, and he has. Dangerously."

His wife's voice was sorrowful as she gazed thoughtfully through the pricked ears of her palfrey. "He never would have done so intentionally."

"I am aware of that, which is why I gave him permission to court her. And yet he understood the risk he took when he volunteered for the mission to Rohan. He knew there was a chance that he would be killed, and he went anyway," Celeborn sought to sift through his tangled emotions as he spoke. "His devotion to duty was part of what made him such an outstanding Chief Marchwarden, and an ellon whom I was proud to consider a friend; but he asked for her love and then left her behind to grieve for him. It seems cruel. Unintentionally so, but cruel nonetheless."

"Cruelty is not a trait I would ever have ascribed to Haldir," Galadriel admonished.

"Not _his_ cruelty then, but Sauron's. Saruman's. The Valar's. Take your choice."

His wife let his harsh words hang heavy in the air around them for a long moment. When she spoke, he could hear in her tone her desire to find some sort of solution to their problem. "I do not think she will wish to return to Lorien for a long time, if ever. If she is not to sail, then we must find a new home for her."

He nodded his head as he glanced at his mate, for he had surmised as much. "Many of her friends are gone or will soon be sailing. You will not be there. It will no longer be the home in which she was raised." He glanced at his wife as he arrived at a potential solution. "Would she be happier in Imladris? Thranduil and I will be meeting to review the borders. I am sure the twins would welcome her into their home, and I have thought of remaining with them for a while."

Before she answered, he could tell from the knowing, too-eager light in Galadriel's eyes that he had hit upon something she had already thought but had not yet mentioned. "Arwen could use help as she plans her wedding."

'_No,'_ he thought immediately. _'How could that possibly help?'_ "My love, do you really think asking Isilmei to help plan her cousin's nuptials, so soon after she was daydreaming of her own, would be a _kindness_?"

"She needs to be surrounded by joy, and work to keep her hands busy. We will be with her until after the wedding; she can do only as much as she is comfortable doing," she answered patiently in the all-perceptive tone that occasionally made him want to curse. "And if she does not want to participate, she does not have to. But it would be good for her to have something else on which to focus her thoughts."

He certainly could not disagree with her on that last point, though he was unconvinced about the rest.

"After the rest of our people leave Minas Tirith," Galadriel continued, "Arwen will still need family support. She will have to set up her own court, learn the ways of her new people. Isilmei is interested in other cultures – this may be a way for her to find both the change of pace and the excitement that will help her overcome her grief. And we must not forget that Isilmei herself has the same mortal heritage as our other grandchildren. She alone among them has had no experience with the Edain. Before she makes her final choice, she must learn enough to make an informed decision."

He gave her a skeptical look that featured a downturned frown and creased brow. He knew that Isilmei and the twins had yet to choose between the immortal and mortal parts of their bloodline, but he had no intention of allowing any of the three of them to follow in Arwen's footsteps.

"The more I think on this, the more sound I find the idea," Galadriel continued with a certain nod. "I will speak to Arwen about it, but I am confident she would be grateful for the help of a kinswoman as well as understand her cousin's need for a change of scenery."

"Would the peace of Imladris and the support of the twins not be _more_ beneficial to her? Not to mention that I can watch over her only if she is _with_ me, for I have not your foresight." he persisted quietly.

"True, but I feel strongly that it is important for her to stay busy – that she not be allowed to sit and fret. There will be more for her to _do_ in Minas Tirith. I do not know exactly what the Valar have planned for her, but I see a future for her here in Middle Earth. I foresee great happiness before her time is through." She turned a fond gaze toward him. "But before she can be happy she must heal. I believe her sojourn in the city will help. Arwen will soon bear children, and you and I both know how hard it is to remain glum when there is the brightness and laughter of wee ones about."

He finally nodded as he released a deep sigh, uncertain if he entirely agreed but willing to trust his wife's confidence in the matter – for it far exceeded his own. He filed the reference to his future great-grandchildren away for later contemplation. There was simply too much on his mind already in this moment.

"Perhaps she will have fulfilled her destiny by the time you are ready to sail, my husband, in which case you can bring her with you. Until that time, I shall miss you both."

There had been times during their long union when they had been apart from one another, but the last occurrence was many long years in the past. He preferred having his wife next to him, being able to see her and touch her and lay beside her in the watches of the night. He understood her desire to sail and supported her decision to go, but he was equally sure that his time had not yet arrived. And so they would part once again, and he would miss her utterly until his own time had come. "Let us have no more talk about sailing today. I am trying to maintain a sense of peace, but it is very difficult. Arwen has made a decision which brings more pain than joy to those of us who love her, and Isilmei's light grows dimmer by the day. I do not wish to be reminded that I am about to lose you too."

Galadriel guided her horse closer to his so that she could reach out and place her hand on top of his as it rested on the pommel of his saddle. He took a deep composing breath as he felt the weight of her gaze upon his face. When he glanced at her, she was smiling warmly at him. "We are blessed by the way that you love us, Celeborn. I can promise you this – when you reach the shores of Avallónë, Celebrian and I will be waiting for you. Of this I have no doubt. And in her own time, Isilmei will join us. We will all be together when the time is right."

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Arwen Undomiel, Lady of Rivendell, was married to Aragorn, King Elessar, amid fanfare and great joy. During the ceremony and the several days of feasting, dancing, and singing which followed, the newlyweds were surrounded by those who loved them as well as representatives from all of Gondor's fiefdoms and allies. Minas Tirith hosted men and women from far-off lands, Elves, Dwarves, and Hobbits, providing the city's residents with strange sights and fodder for many tales.

The sojourn in Minas Tirith was at first difficult for Isilmei, a continuation of emotional torment which had begun months before and showed no sign of abatement. It was easier to function as a seemingly normal elleth when she did not allow herself to picture Haldir's face, and so she sought to suppress her memories of him into the most secret and heavily-guarded parts of her heart and mind.

During her waking hours she learned to be fairly successful in her efforts, pushing him away from her consciousness except for a few brief lapses in effort which left her clinging to whatever was handy as she sought to quell her ragged breathing and the stabbing pain within her heart and belly. And yet at night, as she tried to rest, he haunted her with the sensual smiles to which only she had been privy, with the rich timbre of his voice and the molten silver of his eyes as he had gazed at her. Her dreams were tormented by images and sensations of his lips and his hands upon her, his scent filling her senses as he grabbed her and pulled her close, whispering that he loved her and that everything would be all right. She awoke bathed in sweat and tears, shaking uncontrollably as she fought for mastery of her body and her mind. The only thing of which she was convinced was that she would never find peace again.

The heartache and loneliness she felt in the dark of night were so intense that she sought to force them down – to quash down every emotion within her – until she achieved a deadness of feeling which was blissfully lacking in pain. Thereafter the days passed in a miasma of numbness for Isilmei, who managed to respond in the appropriate ways when she was spoken to, and even to smile with genuine warmth as she helped her grandmother dress Arwen for the marriage ceremony and arrange her hair. Isilmei was happy for her cousin, truly she was, but it was hard to access those feelings through the thick blanketing fog of her sorrow.

Her anesthetized state became so complete that she even managed to nod in silent acceptance – though not agreement – when her grandparents informed her that they had arranged for her to stay in Minas Tirith and assist Arwen as she set up her new court. Her grandmother was soon to sail for the Undying Lands, and Isilmei had assumed she would go with her, but other plans had been made for her without her consultation or approval. Ordinarily she knew she would have been sorely angry, and Grandfather had clearly expected some sort of a fight; but she just nodded, dropped a slight curtsy, and walked away. Apparently it had been easier on them to leave her with Arwen than it was for either of them to take her with them.

She supposed it was just as well in the end. Minas Tirith was full of distractions, and she had no particular desire to travel to Imladris with her grandfather. She wanted to sail, but that path was denied her. Perhaps they were right, perhaps a stay among the Atani with her cousin would be a healthy change of pace. Not even Elladan, whose quick wit was famous within the family, was able to draw a smile from her as he danced her around the Hall of Feasts. It seemed his wit had faltered of late, for reasons she could easily understand. The mortality his sister had chosen was as a millstone around his sturdy shoulders.

Isilmei found herself feeling sorry for her cousins, especially for Lord Elrond. The sadness they felt at Arwen's choice was evident even as they tried to hide it. She suspected most of the guests were oblivious to the myriad of dark emotions festering within Arwen's family, but among those of the Firstborn present there were few secrets. Only the deep love they harbored for Arwen kept the members of her family on their feet and smiling during the festivities. Isilmei – already exhausted from her efforts to maintain a façade of normalcy – found the charged emotional climate draining.

Tonight's ball was, thankfully, the conclusion of the wedding festivities. Tomorrow the various representatives from far-flung lands would begin preparing to leave. As the dance ended, she curtsied to Elladan. She watched his tall, dignified form walk stiffly away before she was gathered into a familiar embrace.

"Are you enjoying the party, Pearl?" he asked in an attempt at levity which fell rather short of its mark.

"Yes, Grandfather," she responded flatly. She found that in spite of the anesthetized feeling she tried to maintain, she was too angry with him to meet the concerned gaze she could feel studying her face.

"Please have faith in our decision, little one. We are trying to help."

It hurt her heart to hear the weariness in his voice and know that she was adding to it. Her grandparents felt as though they were bidding Arwen a final goodbye, even though her eventual fate was many years in the future. And yet knowing all of that could not keep Isilmei from offering at least some protest. "If I am forbidden to sail, I would rather stay with you, though I care not for Imladris. I know that I definitely do not wish to return to Lorien. If Minas Tirith is so good for me, can you not stay here too for a while?"

"King Thranduil, the twins, and I must meet to redraw the borders," he said with tired patience. "We have all agreed that Imladris is the best place for the discussion. And besides, Elessar has arranged for you to begin studying the medicine of the Secondborn in the Houses of Healing. You cannot do that from Imladris."

When she finally raised her eyes to his, she could see compassion in his gaze but also the determination that his mind was made and his position would not be moved in this. She acquiesced with glum resignation. "Yes, Grandfather."

"Give it one year," he entreated. "If you are unhappy here, I will come and collect you myself."

She sniffled and blinked her eyes brusquely in effort to stifle a welling of tears. "I will miss you. And Grandmother," she said as she implored him to understand. Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "I am losing everyone I love. Why can you not see that? Why can you not see what your decision is doing to me?"

He shook his head resolutely. "You have lost neither your grandmother nor me." He bent his great head forward to plant a kiss at the center of her forehead. "And yet the war changed life for all of us, my little one." His voice was sad. "Not for you only."

"I know that," she said as she raised her chin in defiance. "I have neither thought nor said otherwise. And yet the knowledge that others have suffered losses during the war does not lessen my own grief. Haldir's loss is not the only one I mourn, though his absence is the one I feel most deeply. I just do not understand why I must be abandoned here. If only I could…"

Her chin quivered as her voice broke, her grief too oppressive for her to say more. She leaned closer to her grandfather as he pulled her against his chest, hiding her face in his robes as she fought to keep her tears at bay. She clung to the comfort his sturdy embrace offered as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and promised her that her burden would become easier to bear with time. She wished she could believe him.

He waited until she had regained control of her breathing and her tears before easing his hold on her. When she looked up into his face, his hazel eyes were soft with sympathy and love. She raised herself to her tiptoes to plant a grateful kiss on his cheek.

"I think you can be happy here," he said gently as he favored her with a fond smile. "Please just try for me, Pearl. Agree to try for just one short year."

It was the fatigue in his voice and her desire to assuage him that caused her to finally relent. Her shoulders sagged as she nodded and lowered her chin.

"It will bring me peace knowing that you are in a safe place and well cared for as we determine the future course of what Eldar choose to remain in the bent world." Again his arms tightened about her reassuringly. "Over the next few years I will be doing a lot of traveling, and the roads are not yet safe. I would not risk your welfare."

"But you would risk yours?" she asked with a shake of her head. She truly did not understand his reasoning in this.

He chose to turn her question into a joke rather than answer it seriously. "Are you saying that I am incapable of taking care of myself at my advanced age, young lady?"

A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips as she gave in and followed his lead. "You? Of course not." Her eyes rolled toward her hairline.

He sniffed in mock indignation. "I did not think so." He looked down at her lovingly. "We will write to each other constantly and before you know it, we will be reunited. You will see."

She doubted his words very much, but said nothing, returning the hug her gave her as the music ended. She intended to leave the dancing area with him but was stopped by a polite bow from Elessar's good friend, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. Isilmei had glimpsed him from a distance several times since arriving in the city, but this was the first time she had seen him face-to-face since the Fellowship's stay in Lorien. She sought to quickly suppress the grimace that rose to her face at the reminder of how different life had been in those days.

"Lady Isilmei," he said graciously, "may I have the honor of this dance?"

She glanced at her grandfather in hopes that he would make an excuse for her, for in truth she was tired of dancing – dancing and parties and laughter and music and noise of any sort, really – but Grandfather just smiled and inclined his head in the prince's direction before continuing his path to Grandmother's side. A great wave of resignation rose within her as she placed her fingers into the prince's outstretched palm and curtsied. He gently but confidently pulled her into his arms.

As he maneuvered them gracefully into the crowd of dancers, she forced herself to look up and meet his gaze. His expression was softly thoughtful as he studied her. "I am reminded of the first time we spoke," he said quietly.

She searched her memory for a brief moment before she recalled that night in Lorien, seemingly a lifetime ago. "It was the night of Mithrandir's lament." With that she turned her head toward the corner of the room to watch the wizard converse with the Halflings, their heads and shoulders slightly obscured by the cloud of pipe smoke which seemed to bring them such great pleasure. He must have felt her stare, for he looked up at her winked. She could not help favoring him with a fond smile in return.

"I am thankful that his story had a much happier ending than we believed that night," the prince said.

"Indeed, Your Royal Highness."

After a moment of silence between them, he said, "I mention it because you seem so sad, even more so than you did the night of the lament." His eyes were full of concern, which was almost more than she could bear. Part of her wanted to hug him tightly in thanks for his consideration, while another part wanted to push him away and flee the room.

"My apologies, Sir," she managed as she tried to form her lips into a convincing smile. "There is no excuse for sadness at such a happy occasion." His scrutiny unnerved her, for he was the only one other than her grandfather who mentioned the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm the thick numb blanket within which she had shrouded herself. Was the prince the only one who saw it, or merely the only one honest enough to mention it? She had tried so hard to shield her feelings from casual observers, not wishing to detract from the happy occasion of her cousin's marriage, and felt ashamed to discover that her efforts had apparently been unsuccessful.

"You have no need to apologize," he said with a shake of his golden head as a small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. "The war has changed us all."

She said nothing. She was appreciative of his compassion, but felt naked under his scrutiny. She was also dangerously close to tears as she cast her eyes downward so that she could no longer see his penetrating gaze. She pretended to be fascinated with the delicate embroidery decorating the lapel of his rich green robes.

"What of Lothlorien?" He asked after an awkward pause. She was scarcely aware of her feet as they followed him about the floor. "How fared the Galadhrim during the war?"

Thankful for the change of topic, she told him of the repeated attacks from Dol Guldur, the distant sounds of shrieking and battle that could be heard in the night as the Forest Guard and City Patrol struggled to defend the realm. How the Great Hall had become a sanctuary for those not trained as warriors and those too young or too injured to fight as they sat and waited through sleepless nights, praying to the Valar to give their warriors strength and accuracy. She then related what she knew of the offensive march on Dol Guldur led by her grandparents after Sauron's fall, though she had not taken part herself.

She could feel his contemplative gaze remain upon her face as her own eyes darted everywhere but to his. "And what for you now, my Lady?" he asked softly. "It seems that everyone is trying to decide what to do now that the Enemy has fallen."

"I had hoped to sail," she said with a sigh, "but instead will be staying here for awhile. I plan to study with the healers to learn of Atani medicine."

"A noble cause." His smile was gentle and warm when she risked a glance at him.

"And what for you?" she asked, eager to move the focus the conversation away from herself.

An amused light came into the prince's eyes. "Gimli and I made a promise to one another which we plan to fulfill. He will travel with me to the great forests so that he can learn of our woodland ways, and in turn I will go with him to the Glittering Caves beneath the Hornburg." He shrugged as he added, "I have yet to decide what I shall do with myself after that."

She had heard that the prince and the dwarf had become close friends during the Fellowship's trials, and yet such a friendship was so unusual among their people that she could not help marveling at it. She was also surprised that he said nothing of returning home to Mirkwood permanently. "Your father does not need your help within your realm?"

He shook his head as he grinned at her. "No, for my older brother is more than capable of providing all the help Adar might need. 'The Spare Prince,' Ferion has always called me."

At the astonished look she gave him he laughed, a pleasant sound as it rumbled through his chest and his smile lit his face. "He is my older brother. I have more than a few choice nicknames for him in return."

She forced out a soft chuckle as she lifted the corners of her mouth in what she hoped approximated a smile.

He leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. "I do have one project planned before Gimli and I begin our travels."

She liked this mischievous prince, she decided. Especially when his smile brightened his features and good humor danced in his eyes. "What is that?"

"I am going to create a garden for Arwen and Aragorn within the King's private residence. The natural places within this city have been so neglected for such a long time that the plants do not remember what it is to have proper care."

She nodded her agreement. "I had noticed that."

"The royal couple could use a green space in which to retreat," he said as he straightened to his full height once more and his eyes continued to hold her gaze. "It is to be my wedding gift to them."

She was charmed by the idea, for the change in Arwen's mortality would not have altered her need to be surrounded by the natural world which was so vitally important to their people. The stone city, though beautiful in its own harsh way, was sadly devoid of nature. "What a thoughtful notion. If you find you need an assistant, I would be pleased to help you."

"I would like that very much." His smile drew her attention to the height of his cheekbones, the subtle slant of his brows and the sharpness of his jawline. "Perhaps the garden would benefit both of the Eldar who choose to remain in Minas Tirith. It would make me happy to know that I had brightened your stay here."

"Then we are agreed." For the first time in more days than she could remember, the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth felt genuine.

The music ended and they exchanged the expected pleasantries. Isilmei quickly chose a path that took her away from the direction in which the prince turned, and made a hasty retreat from the hall before anyone else could ask her for a dance. She found that the prince's company had been the most pleasant of the day, for he did not admonish her to be happy or to smile or act as if she was having a good time. Yet his patient demeanor and the soft way in which he spoke to her hinted that he understood her frame of mind and had the courtesy to accept it without taking it personally or insisting she pretend to be something she was not. How refreshing.

She preferred to end the evening on that high note. Her mind made up, she turned toward the private residence to seek out the quiet sanctuary of the room she had been given. Perhaps she would feel better after some time alone. There would be official duties to attend to in the morning, but for the moment she had no fortitude to contemplate any of them. She wanted only silence, and solitude, and whatever peace she could find.

TBC…


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Reunions and Introductions**

_Five years later…_

It was midmorning when Legolas arrived in the White City, and he beheld it as a marvel. There was still visible war damage awaiting repair, but much had been made new in the years since he had first viewed the city from the Pelennor Fields. Under Denethor's stewardship the walls and buildings of the lower levels had acquired a grayish cast as though obscured by too much dirt, but that was all changing under Aragorn's rule. The great city of men gleamed brilliantly white in the bright morning sun, from the Great Gate all the way up to the Tower of Ecthelion.

Legolas was delighted to see that his efforts to restore nature to the city seemed to be spreading as well, for many of the homes and public buildings were decorated with vines and flowering plants that thrived with good health. Most of the wells were now surrounded by small parks dotted with saplings. Birds sang happily from their branches and their bright voices gladdened his spirit.

He reached the stables and handed Arod's reins over to a youth, quietly promising his equine friend that he would see to him personally later that afternoon. Grabbing his traveling pack from his saddle, he took the foot path that led through a tunnel and up into the Court of the Fountain. The white tree waved gently in the breeze as though welcoming him personally to the city.

Legolas entered the Tower with a smile on his face and a song in his heart, eagerly looking forward to seeing his dear friends and his young nephew. This visit would also be the first time he would meet the newest addition to the family, the Princess Eliel. As he approached the main audience chamber, he was met by none other than the king himself.

"Well met, my friend!" Aragorn said. He looked hale and hearty and entirely regal dressed in black velvet, his doublet embroidered with the device of his realm. His crown fit him, in spite of his protestations to the contrary, as though he had been born wearing it. There were times at home in Eryn Lasgalen when Legolas did not feel nearly as comfortable in his own circlet as Aragorn had clearly become in the crown of Gondor.

He smiled widely and gripped his friend's shoulder. "It is good to see you, Aragorn."

When footsteps began to sound farther down the corridor, the king gave him an impish look and waved a hand. "Quickly, come with me."

"Where are we going?" Legolas asked, dropping his voice to match the stage whisper his friend had adopted.

"We are running away."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow as his long legs easily kept up with Aragorn's brisk strides. "Well, that took less time than I thought. It seems I owe Gimli, for he has won our bet."

Aragorn laughed. "There have been days when I have contemplated making a break for the North," he said as they approached a back entrance to the tower, "but my wife won't let me."

Legolas grinned. "The burdens of marriage. And kingship."

"In some ways fighting orcs is much easier."

"Well, more _fun_ than statesmanship, certainly."

Their laughing, boyish retreat was abruptly cut off as a tall red-haired man wearing court dress and an exasperated expression stepped out of a side corridor and obstructed their path. "Your Majesty," he began with a curt bow. "Greetings, Your Royal Highness," he said briskly to Legolas before fixing his intent gaze on the king. "Sire, you must make ready to…"

"Peace, Barador," Aragorn said with tired patience as he held up a hand. "I will return in plenty of time to consult the minister this afternoon. In the meantime, I have a private meeting scheduled with Prince Legolas. We were on our way, as you can see."

The man Barador nodded, wise enough to take the king's hint. He bowed his head, clearly not happy with the king's failure to comply, but obedient to his sovereign's wishes. It was a look Legolas had seen many times on the faces of his father's closest advisors. With a quiet sigh Barador turned on his heel and retreated back the way he had come.

Aragorn resumed his quick pace as Legolas followed him out the back door and into bright sunshine. As they made for the King's House, Legolas cast his friend a sly glance.

"Precisely what is the nature of this private meeting?"

"We are meeting to discuss lunch, of course. While we eat it."

Legolas laughed, thoroughly understanding the need for a respite from official duties.

"And then you will have a chance to unwind from your journey," the king continued. "Dinner will be a formal affair this evening in the Hall of Feasts so that we may welcome all our guests properly, but I cannot abide sitting through two formal meals in a row. The court can take their lunch without me today."

An attendant pulled open heavy wooden doors as the king and prince approached. Legolas's eyes quickly adjusted to the interior dimness as they stepped inside the foyer. The first floor of the King's House was staged for public functions. Carved white stonework formed the walls and ceiling and inlaid marble floors displayed the white tree and silver stars of Gondor. Branching off to either side of the wide entryway were reception rooms, though Legolas knew that Aragorn preferred to keep as much of the formal business of the court in the Tower so that the King's House would be more private for the family. He and Arwen were protective of their children, guarding jealously with whom and in what way their young interacted with members of the court.

Aragorn made for the curving staircase that led up to the family's private quarters. The two of them jogged easily up a vividly red runner to the third floor. Legolas rather liked the relative coziness of the private residence. The craftsmanship was every bit as exquisite as one would expect for the personal quarters of a king, and everywhere the motifs reflected the history of Gondor and her people; but still it was more intimate, a more livable space than those within the Tower. Aragorn and Arwen had managed to create a blend of public responsibility and private family life that Legolas found refreshing. It was a more breathable existence than the stiflingly formal environment his father and older brother maintained in Eryn Lasgalen.

Together the two friends entered a cozy kitchen. Most of the family's meals were taken elsewhere, but since their son was born, Arwen had insisted that a room within the family residence be fitted out so that the prince and whatever siblings would follow could have access to meals whenever their developing bodies demanded.

The room she had designated as the family's kitchen was modest in comparison to other rooms within the residence. The walls were a creamy colored brick. Small mosaic tiles formed a border around an intricately-laid parquet floor. The room was located upon one of the building's exterior walls and a wide, arched window that stretched from ceiling to floor offered an impressive view of lawn and the great wall surrounding this highest level of the city. Behind the wall Mount Mindolluin jumped to its snow-capped height, jutting out into a startlingly blue sky.

The formality of the room's walls and floors was offset by the straightforwardness of the cupboards and furnishings, including the sturdy farmhouse-style table in the middle of the room. A few toys lay abandoned in one corner near the window.

A large platter was set upon the table and laden with bread, cheese, and fruit, along with a few slices of salted meat and an assortment of sweets. Aragorn grabbed a pair of trenchers from the sideboard and handed them to Legolas. "Make yourself at home," the king told him.

Legolas accepted the trenchers and settled himself at the table as Aragorn opened a cabinet and withdrew two goblets and a jar of cider, which he then set down on the table. Aragorn promptly began making himself a sandwich as Legolas poured the cider for them both and happily reached toward the food.

Aragorn raised his goblet. "To peaceful journeys."

"And happy arrivals," Legolas answered as he tapped his goblet against Aragorn's. Legolas's stomach growled in the still room, which drew a snicker from Aragorn.

The two companions were busily tucking themselves into their early lunch when the quiet of the room was broken. A slender form stopped just inside the doorway.

"Running from the Minister of Coin again, I see?" Isilmei asked with a grin. A dark-haired child perched on her hip.

Aragorn nodded and quirked his eyebrows at her. "Every chance I can. I hate those meetings."

Legolas smiled warmly at Isilmei. "Be kind to him. His advisor has already told him he has to take the meeting later whether he likes it or not."

She laughed as she returned his smile and nodded in greeting. "Welcome back, Legolas. It has been too long since we have seen you."

"So Eldarion informed me in his last letter," Legolas said amicably. "Whoever has been recording his thoughts for him is doing a fine job." He allowed himself a brief moment to study her as Aragorn rose from his chair and raised his arms to accept the child. Isilmei looked well, Legolas decided. And happier than he had ever seen her. Living within Arwen and Aragorn's family clearly suited her. Her pale skin was radiant and there was a healthy pink color in her cheeks and lips – much different from the drawn, wan lady he remembered from the wedding and his first few subsequent visits to the city. Her blue eyes sparkled when she swapped a fond look with Aragorn, and it was then that Legolas noticed the piercing color of her eyes. They were bright like the summer sky on a clear day, framed by fans of dark curving lashes and gently arched brows.

As she smiled down at the child in her arms, her face lit like the noon-day sun. When she smiled a true smile – one motivated by happiness instead of convention or expectation – she was captivatingly lovely. And yet there was something else about her – a glimpse of sadness that ghosted across her features when she raised her eyes from the child and glanced out the wide window. She seemed to banish it quickly, but the effect of it suggested a specter of shadow living within her, dimming her light. It was a hint of the kind of sorrow he would normally expect to find in one much older than she. The elleth was a puzzle; there was no doubt about it.

Her thick tresses, silver-gold and looking for all the world like they would be warm satin in his hands, were held back from her face by simple braids that came together at the back of her head. He could just see the pointed tips of her ears beneath the plaits. The wine-hued gown she wore was of the Gondorian style rather than of Elven design. It was made of heavy velvet, square-cut at the neck and fitted to the waist before flaring out into a full skirt. Underneath the gown she wore a white shift that peeked out above the gown's neckline and flared into full sleeves. So regal was her bearing, so refined her movements, that if not for her pointed ears and the ethereal light radiating from her smile and eyes when she looked at the child, she could almost pass for a Gondorian princess. Still, he thought, she looked better when dressed in Elven clothing. The heaviness of the gown she wore seemed too much, too overwhelming for one of such delicate beauty and grace.

The little one on her hip leaned forward excitedly and smiled broadly at her father when Aragorn reached for her. The king scooped the girl against his chest before turning back toward Legolas as Isilmei followed him further into the room.

"Eliel, meet your Uncle Legolas," Aragorn said as he bounced her in his arms. The child regarded him shyly as she laid her head against her father's broad chest.

"Aragorn, she is beautiful," Legolas said softly as he smiled warmly at the little princess. "She looks so much like her mother."

Aragorn beamed like the proud father he was. "She does, doesn't she? You should see her when she is angry. Then she looks even more like Arwen."

Isilmei chuckled from the sideboard, where she stood assembling a trencher and a cup with looped, child-friendly handles on either side. She crossed to the table and stopped to watch the little girl, who was regarding Legolas as though he were somehow a threat to her.

Legolas extended a hand toward her, palm up. "Hello, little one. I have heard much about you." His voice was gentle, but seemed to have no effect on the child whose blue eyes were wide and round in her face. She clung to the sleeve of her father's tunic when he attempted to pass her to Legolas.

Isilmei came round the table to stand next to Legolas. "It's all right, El," she said cheerfully. "Uncle Legolas is a friend."

When the girl still did not seem convinced, Isilmei looked at Legolas and gave him a fond smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. She knelt down beside him, letting her hand slide down his arm to his elbow. Legolas felt his skin prickle into gooseflesh underneath his tunic. He rested his fingers on top of hers and gazed warmly down at her, hoping to reassure the child. She reached her other hand up to Eliel. "He doesn't bite. See?"

With a last look up at her father, the little girl leaned toward Isilmei and allowed herself to be settled on Legolas's lap. His arms formed a brace around her, unsure how steady her balance would be and not wanting to be the one that let her fall to the floor. Her short legs dangled against the sides of his chair as he looked down upon the tiny head covered in dark wavy hair.

"She is more reserved than her brother when meeting new people," Isilmei said as she patted his shoulder reassuringly and returned to the serving ware she had set upon the table. She lifted a slice of bread from the platter and tore it into small chunks, repeating the action with a piece of cheese. Next she selected several bite-sized pieces of fruit and added them to the plate. As she worked, the shadow flitted across her expression once more. Legolas felt the urge to be forward; to caress the side of her face and ask her what troubled her so, but restrained himself.

"Legolas will soon charm his way into her affections, I have no doubt," Aragorn said as he resumed his seat and smiled brightly at his daughter and his dear friend. "All Eliel needed was a little encouragement from her Auntie Pearl." Legolas was charmed himself as he watched the girl favor her father with a wide grin. Two tiny white teeth peeked out from her lower gums.

"Is the cider sweet or hard?" Isilmei asked.

"Sweet," Aragorn answered as he passed her the jug.

She poured a small portion into the cup and brought cup and trencher around the table to take the seat next to Legolas. The little girl reached eagerly for the food, forgetting to be concerned about the ellon holding her.

Legolas went back to eating his own sandwich with one hand as he held Eliel with the other. She eagerly accepted and ate the pieces of bread and cheese Isilmei held out, but was less enthusiastic about the fruit.

After the third refused berry, Isilmei smiled brightly as she popped it into her own mouth. She hummed happily. "This is so good! Ada, would you like a berry? Eliel doesn't want them."

"Certainly," Aragorn agreed.

Legolas was surprised into laughter by what happened next. Instead of extending his hand for the fruit, Aragorn merely tipped his head back and opened his mouth wide. Isilmei tossed the berry, which Aragorn expertly caught from mid-air as he smiled at his daughter. Eliel grinned hugely and clapped her chubby hands together.

"Would you like one?" Isilmei asked the little girl sweetly.

Eliel cast her eyes at the three adults in the room as if ensuring that they were all watching her own part of the game. The look she cast Legolas was rather flirtatious, he decided, as she peered up at him from underneath a wealth of black lashes. She shook her head 'no,' and scrunched her lips tightly together.

Isilmei raised her eyes to Legolas. He was struck again by the brightness of their color and the way her smile drew his attention to the soft fullness of her lips. "Uncle Legolas, would you like a berry?"

He was happy to play his part in the game. "I would love one, thank you," he said as he bounced the girl on his knee. Eliel squealed with delight. He assumed Isilmei would toss the fruit to him as well, but she surprised him by holding the fruit up to his mouth. Eliel craned her head back against his chest to watch as he plucked the berry from her fingers with his teeth.

He was sure she meant nothing by the gesture outside the continuance of Eliel's game, but there was something so intimate about it that he felt a momentary flash of self-consciousness. In the next instant, his feelings shifted again and he felt a secret thrill at the very same intimacy that had disquieted him a breath earlier. There was something so very natural about sitting with this particular elleth and helping her tend to the child that it touched a tender spot deep inside him. It was a sensation he had not experienced before, and he knew that it would take some time to figure out how she managed to have such an affect on him.

"Well," Aragorn said quietly as he finished making another sandwich and handed it across the table to Isilmei, "_someone_ is dazzled."

Isilmei beamed at Aragorn before returning her eyes to Legolas, which gave Legolas just enough time to hide his embarrassment at being caught staring by his ever-perceptive friend. He dropped his eyes back to the child's full head of dark wavy hair.

"You were right," Isilmei said, oblivious to what had just transpired. "It took him no more than a moment to charm your daughter."

As if to prove her point, Eliel reached out her hand for the next fruit Isilmei held up for her and raised it to Legolas's lips. He chuckled as he opened his mouth and let the little girl place it on his tongue. "Thank you," he said. "Now why don't you try one?"

The miniature princess gave him another shy smile before nodding her head. Isilmei handed the next fruit to him so that he could feed it to the child himself. As Eliel happily munched the berry, she reached out a hand to pet the hair hanging over his shoulder. Her wide smile lit her countenance as she studied him.

"I have been replaced in El's affections," Isilmei said with an exaggerated sigh. "This is a tragic day for me."

"Not to worry, Auntie Pearl," Aragorn said indulgently. "You will always be the keeper of Eldarion's heart."

"Pearl?" Legolas asked, for it was the second time he had heard the reference. He lifted another berry from the trencher so that Eliel could pluck it from his hands. She thought about whether or not she wanted to eat it herself before holding it up for him. When he bent forward to take it, she gobbled it up and laughed at him.

Aragorn laughed at his daughter's antics as Isilmei blushed and ducked her head. She glanced up at Legolas through her lashes as she explained. "It is an old nickname." She offered Eliel a sip of cider before continuing, nearly leaning into Legolas's lap to do so. He could smell the fragrance of midnight-jasmine that clung to her hair. "My grandmother said that when I was an elfling, it took longer than usual for my hair to grow in, so for some time I had only a dusting of baby hair that was so fine and so pale it could hardly be seen except in direct sunlight. Apparently one afternoon Grandfather looked at me and announced that my head reminded him of a giant pearl. And Pearl I have been ever since."

"Per," Eliel said, pointing to her auntie.

Isilmei's smile brightened the room, and melted Legolas's heart. "That's right, sweetness. Auntie Pearl. And who is this?" She asked pointing to Legolas.

She twisted her round little face as she tried to form the word. "Unca Leg…Leg."

Isilmei giggled in such an infectious way that Legolas was almost willing to accept the atrocious nickname he feared would have considerable staying power. "Uncle Leg," she cooed. "That's right."

Legolas rolled his eyes and looked to Aragorn for rescue.

"Do not look to me," Aragorn said in mock-annoyance. "She'll talk to her Auntie Pearl and her _Uncle Leg_, but she has yet to name either of her parents."

Isilmei gave Aragorn a doting smile. "She asks about you all the time when you aren't in the room, don't you, El?"

As though understanding every word, the wee princess cast her father an impish look. "Ada," she said, pointing across the table.

Aragorn's smile was huge as he clapped his hands together and rose to lift the child in his arms and spin her about the room as he kissed her dimpled cheeks. "That's my girl," he beamed. "I am your Ada, and you are the most brilliant princess in all of Middle Earth."

Legolas was thoroughly captivated by the scene of domestic bliss in which he had found himself. "If I had known that lunch would come with such charming entertainment, I would have come sooner and planned a longer stay."

Isilmei had finished cleaning up after Eliel's lunch and polished off her own sandwich as Aragorn hugged his daughter tightly before setting her down on her feet. Isilmei abandoned her chair, sinking to the floor in a graceful swirl of burgundy velvet and held out her arms to the child. "Come on, sweet. You can do it. Walk to me."

Eliel stood with little trouble, but toddled a bit as she tried to take a step forward. "We have been working on this for several weeks now," Isilmei explained for Legolas's benefit. "So far our results have been inconsistent." The princess took several steps before giving up and deciding that it was easier and quicker to crawl. She scooted on hands and knees faster than should have been possible, by Legolas's reckoning, across the floor and threw herself face-first into Isilmei's skirts. The elleth tickled the young one's sides as they both giggled.

Aragorn stooped to ruffle his daughter's hair before turning to Legolas. "I can avoid the finance minister no longer," he said. "Did you bring your plans with you?"

He nodded. "I should warn you, they are rough. The project is in its earliest planning stages."

"Not to worry," Aragorn answered. "Faramir and Eowyn are in the city and will be joining us for dinner this evening. I have arranged a meeting afterward for you, myself, and Faramir to discuss the future of Ithilien."

"I shall look forward to it," Legolas said with a brisk nod.

"Until then, rest and know that you are most welcome, my brother. If you have the energy for it, your niece and nephew would love to spend some time with you." He smiled a sly little grin and Legolas knew what was coming before the words fell from Aragorn's lips. "Uncle Leg."

Isilmei laughed, and when Legolas looked down at her, he thought the joy on her face worth enduring a little ribbing. She looked back down at her charge as Aragorn left the room. Little Eliel chose that moment to regain her feet. Her tiny hand grabbed at the first means of balance available to her, which happened to be the front of her auntie's gown.

Fortunately the construction of the gown and the thickness of the velvet kept her from being exposed, but the determined fingers gripping the fine white shift pulled enough away that Legolas glimpsed the creamy slope of her breasts. He turned back toward the table and quickly helped himself to another serving of cider before she realized he had seen her. He kept his gaze focused upon his beverage, swirling it round and round in the goblet as he sought to push that brief, tantalizing view of unblemished flesh, ripe for touching, to the back of his mind.

"It sounds like you and Estel are hatching some sort of secret plot." Her words jerked him out of his thoughts.

Slowly, he turned back to face her, glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye to make sure that she had righted herself before he met her gaze. "Not a plot really," he said, leaning against the back of the chair. "More like an adventure."

"Hmm…" she studied his face with speculative eyes as a glimmer of a smile pulled at her mouth. "I am not sure Arwen will like the sound of that."

"I am not taking him away. I am planning a new Elven realm. A colony of sorts."

Her eyes flew wide. "In Ithilien?"

"Yes," he answered as he studied the avid curiosity in her face. The only other Elf he had discussed his idea with was his father, who had been – predictably – less than supportive. Perhaps there was value in gauging another's reaction. "There is so much damage there. It was once a beautiful land, but was much marred by the Deceiver. I would gather a coalition of like-minded adventurers and repair what injury we can."

Her smile had spread to the whole of her face. "What a wonderful idea! I cannot think of a better use of Elven ingenuity and industry than making over an entire land. What a legacy you will create for our people."

He decided that he liked her opinion much better than his father's, and nearly said as much. His allegiance to his father and king held sway, however, so he decided to venture into another topic. "How go your studies? Are you still working with the healers?"

"Yes, though since this little one arrived I have spent the majority of my time helping Arwen. I have learned much in the past several years, but there is much still to learn. Mortals are so fragile. There are so many different ways they can be damaged."

"Have you no time to yourself?" He was frowning when he asked the question for he was not sure that the silver princess of the Golden Wood should be devoting herself so thoroughly to playing nursemaid, no matter how tight the family bonds might be. Clearly the king and queen had no shortage of domestic help at their disposal.

"Occasionally I find something pretty to sketch. I have done several portraits of both children. I brought my favorite horse from Lorien, and kept her here with me. I used to ride through the city from time to time."

"Used to?" He wondered what once again caused a smoke of disquiet to darken her face.

"Ai," she said a little too dismissively, "it just is not always practical." He could see her give whatever unpleasant thought she held a mental shove as she turned her attention back to the child. Yet there it was again, that shadow. What was it that haunted her so?

He fully intended to follow up on the remark and find out what it was she did not want to tell him; but the wee one issued a mighty yawn, rubbing her fist across her eyes as she did so.

"Ah. Nap time," Isilmei said as she scooped the babe against her chest and stood in one fluid motion. Eliel dropped her little head to Isilmei's shoulder and snuggled close, while her auntie rubbed one hand down the child's back as she made her way to the door.

"Would you take a ride with me tomorrow afternoon? I would like to see some of the city and perhaps ride into the mountains." He was unsure where the idea came from, but was glad he had given in to impulse when she stopped to look back at him.

A look of wistful longing drifted across her face as she turned her eyes toward the window and gazed at the mountain. As a smile of anticipation spread across her lips, she said, "I would like that. I so love to ride and it has been too long since Nim and I left the stables together." Isilmei's next grin was full of mischief. "Arwen and Eldarion should be here shortly. I know they'd love to see you. Uncle _Leg_."

He rolled his eyes as she made her way down the hallway. "Jesters, the lot of you," he called as the delightful sound of her laughter floated back to his ears.

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Ghosts and New Beginnings**

_Two years later…_

She dreamed…happy and peaceful dreams which brought gentle comfort and promised a bright and sanguine morning. A warm golden light tinged the edge of her consciousness, almost luring her toward the coming day. And yet, an edge of sadness, something she could not identify and yet knew within her heart that she did not want to confront, warned her away.

Her conflicted thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his warm, soft lips upon her body. He kissed her cheekbones, her collarbones, her nose, her eyelids, the tips of her ears, the curve of her throat – everywhere he knew brought her pleasure.

She sighed in contended delight as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Of course he would be there, to comfort her whenever she had a bad dream. He always had been, and always would be, the rock upon which her life was built. She had known even before she realized the truth of his love that he was there for her before she recognized her need, and that he would be there for her until the world was unmade. Her greatest task until that time was to repay his love and his loyalty with her own, to be worthy of his troth.

"My beloved," she whispered.

His hands roamed over her, making short work of the diaphanous gown she had worn to bed. His eager fingers smoothly unfastened the row of tiny buttons holding the soft garment about her frame, opening it wide as his hands found her skin.

She gasped in pleasure as her fingers dug into his back, delighting in the feel of his warm, smooth skin until she came to the waistband of his breeches.

"Ai, this will never do," she groaned as she quickly moved her hands between them to untie the laces and part the fabric keeping them apart.

He moaned against her skin as he kissed her, tasting and savoring and loving her with his lips and his hands. "Let there be nothing between us," he rasped in her ear. "Nothing, for the rest of our lives."

"Nothing," she agreed. "Let me feel nothing but you."

As she spoke his lips planted a line of fiery kisses from her neck to her mouth. He captured her lips with his own as she threaded her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and sewed their mouths together in a passionate tapestry of lips and tongues and desire. His hands slid from her shoulders to her palms, raising her arms above her head and knitting their fingers together to bare her body to his hungry onslaught.

She threw her head back against the pillow, eager and welcoming of his attentions as he lavished her with his words and his lips and his hands and his body.

She cried out her love for him as she held on to his hands and kissed every part of him she could reach as he moved against her, frantically begging him to know of her love for him, to stay with her always.

"Isilmei, my wife," he gasped as he shuddered deep in her arms. "I love you."

"Haldir," she moaned as tears swelled behind her eyelids as she tried to maintain her grip on him. She could already feel his warmth slipping away from her, though she knew not where or why. "Please, beloved. I need you. Do not leave me." Tears of the most abject sorrow began to spill down her cheeks as he withdrew from her body and her heart.

Even before he was gone, she felt his absence as the bisecting of her soul. One moment she was warm, complete, his in every way possible, and the next she was adrift in a cold, quiet, empty bed in a gray predawn haze. She looked down at herself to discover that she was alone, the bed and her nightgown undisturbed except for the places where she had twisted the sheets in her dream.

She pressed her face against a pillow to muffle her sobs, though there was nothing she could do to still the quaking of her shoulders, the tears pouring down her face, or the rending of her heart. It was a dream that had come in a number of different forms over the last several years, and yet each new version was even more torturous than the last. He was with her, as he had seemingly always been, so warm and bright and sharp and full of intent and his unending love for her, and then was gone just as quickly, leaving her to fend for herself in a world that she felt utterly incapable of handling. She needed him, had admitted as much, and then he was taken from her without warning or preparation.

She sobbed out her sorrow and her anger at the cruelty of the Valar, the seminal unfairness of the world. What had she done to deserve such an horrific fate? There was nothing she could think of that could possibly warrant the torment within which she found herself. Her dreams made her loathe the nighttime because when they came they left her exhausted and fighting to remain focused when dawn arrived. It seemed she would forever feel spent and weak, like a shadow of the elleth she had been before the war. She did her best to hide her feelings during her waking hours, but she could not will them away when she slept, especially when the dreams came. There were days when she felt she simply lacked the strength to handle her life. On those days she wished for nothing so much as a quick, quiet end to her days. Whatever came after for her must be better than the world in which she was now forced to live which was so devoid of the love and life she had known just a short few years before. As her dark thoughts swirled within her she cried until she felt there were no tears left in her body, and then, as always, she cried anew.

Some time later, a small, soft figure climbed onto the bed as the sun began to cast its rosy glow outside her windows. She did not have the courage to open her eyes and face another bleak day until she felt two small arms wrap around her neck and shoulders as a tiny pair of hands quietly patted her back. Without opening her eyes she knew her young champion had come to her rescue once again, even though he had no idea why she needed saving or what she needed saving from.

She smiled fondly as she opened her tear-swollen lids and looked into the prettiest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. The six-year-old prince's eyes were large and round in his face as he regarded her in a sympathetic manner which belied his youth. "I'm sorry, Auntie," Eldarion whispered. "What can I do?"

"It's nothing, my darling," she replied as she made her best effort to sit up and brush her hair back from her face. He was so serious when he tried to save her from her dreams. And yet he was so young that she could not bear to see the weight of maturity or wisdom upon his fair face. He was upset when she was, and so it was her responsibility to be happy around him always. She sat up straighter in the bed and took a deep shuddering breath, pasting on a bright smile which she hoped she would eventually feel, and reached out a hand to brush one of his soft dark curls back from his forehead. "Are your sisters up yet?"

"Gilrael has been awake for some time, but I told her you needed to sleep in," Eldarion informed her solemnly in a tone that reminded her far too much of his father. "Eliel is still sleeping."

"Then we should wake her, yes?" Isilmei asked conspiratorially.

It was the weekly day of rest – the only morning each week that the royal parents reserved exclusively for one another. Isilmei had taken on the regular task of entertaining the children so that their elders could indulge in a little private time. She had long ago discovered that the best way to ensure that Aragorn and Arwen could sleep in of a morn was to keep the children quietly and yet thoroughly occupied. Preferably in some task that involved many steps and took several hours to complete. This morning, after taking their breakfast, they would be journeying to the palace kitchens to bake the small cakes that were such a favorite for a very special guest scheduled to arrive that afternoon. The pastry chef was enamored with the children, and was always so kind about making time for them.

Eldarion nodded his enthusiastic agreement and hopped to the floor. The long sleepshirt hung on his frame, which was stretching and becoming lankier with each year now that he was growing past his toddlerhood. The older he became, the more he resembled his father. She found that she missed the roundness of his toddler cheeks, the sweet innocence of his babyhood which was rapidly being replaced by the confidence and surety of his early youth. If he had been born of her body, she thought, it would be hard for her to love him any more than she did.

As she rose from the bed and pulled on her dressing gown a brief vision of two round-cheeked, fair-haired elflings swam before her eyes. The elflings were two that she had never seen in her waking life – they were the offspring she would have given Haldir had he lived to make good on the promises he had made her in their brief, but passionate, courtship. They both had long, straight sliver-gold hair, these two. The boy had blue eyes, and the girl had eyes the mutable silver of their father. When they smiled, it was his smile she saw in them, and they were bright and clever and pure of heart. She tended to weep whenever she saw these elflings, but reminded herself sternly that she was unable to do so now, when the very real, living children of Arwen and Aragorn depended upon her to help them fix their breakfast.

She padded after Eldarion on bare feet as he tiptoed to his sisters' room. The children always wanted to wake each other in what seemed the most aggressively enthusiastic ways, but she did her best to hold them in check. She knew how it felt to be awakened traumatically, and would do whatever was within her power to keep any of them from suffering in any way. As long as she was around, she could do at least that much for them.

Three-year-old Eliel lay sound asleep in her bed near the door, while her baby sister Gilrael was awake but babbling quietly to herself in the crib across the room. At the moment Gilrael seemed fascinated by her toes, so Isilmei focused her attention on managing Eldarion's attempts to awaken his middle sister.

"Sissy!" he demanded, lowering his voice only when Isilmei insisted he do so by pressing her index finger against her lips and whispering an emphatic _'Shh!'_ noise at him, "Wake up."

At her brother's stage whisper, Eliel tossed her head of dark curls, turning her face away from her big brother and planting her thumb firmly in her mouth. Her determined expression as she resolutely shook her head in the negative was one Isilmei had seen on Arwen's face. Eliel was in many ways her mother made over – Arwen in miniature.

Isilmei regarded the tiny girl fondly. "Little one," she cooed. "Let us rise and make breakfast. It's a brand new day."

Eliel cracked one eye lid and peered at her, but did not seem convinced.

"Do you remember who's coming to see you today?" asked Isilmei, hoping the lure of a special guest would convince her small charge to cooperate.

The little girl thought for a moment before her face lit with a smile, her blue eyes opening wide as she plucked her thumb from her mouth. "Uncle Leg!"

"That's right. And we want to be up and dressed and pretty for him when he arrives, yes?" Isilmei was not at all shy about using the little princess's crush on the prince when necessary to get her moving in the proper direction.

Eliel nodded, all thoughts of sleep clearly abandoned as she sat up and swung her chubby legs over the edge of her bed. "Move, brother," she said. "It's time to get up."

Isilmei reminded Eldarion and his middle sister to be quiet as they scampered off toward the family's private kitchen. Balancing the happily smiling Gilrael on one hip, Isilmei followed the older children. As she thought about the day's coming events, she wondered if the upturn in her own mood over the last few moments had anything to do with the pending arrival of a certain royal guest whose kindness and sharp wit seemed to brighten even the dreariest days.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_A few days later…_

Legolas was delighted as he held Gilrael's hands and helped her walk around the nursery. Her tiny hands wrapped around each of his index fingers and he found himself staring at the miniature perfection of her finger nails and her soft cap of dark hair as she struggled to maintain her balance. During his visits to the palace since Eldarion's birth, he had spent more time with younglings than he had in all his previous centuries. His own sister had died in infancy – an exceedingly rare event among the Eldar and a blow from which his mother never recovered. She eventually sought solace in the Blessed Realm. The last remaining vestiges of his father's tenderness seemed to sail with his mother, and after she left his and his brother's time was so packed with training and studies that he rarely even saw elflings. Although, in truth, very few elflings had been born in Mirkwood for centuries. He suspected that would begin to change now that the fighting had ended.

Legolas felt he had been raised by the soldiers of the Mirkwood Guard rather than by his own parents. As a result he knew little of the intimacies of family life outside his experiences in Minas Tirith.

He was not the only one of Arwen and Aragorn's closest friends who had become besotted with the royal children, of course. Gimli was firmly wrapped around Eliel's finger, and thoroughly enjoyed his frequent visits to the palace. Arwen's brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, were known to visit as often as possible and always came bearing gifts. Their pattern was so firmly established that when Eldarion heard that his uncles were coming, his first response had become, "What are they bringing us?" until he was chastised by his mother for making assumptions.

Each time he visited Minas Tirith, Legolas was struck by how quickly the children grew and changed. Each of them reminded him of both their parents and yet was a unique creature unto him- or herself. Eldarion was the very image of the dutiful young prince. He reminded Legolas of his older brother Ferion in some ways – diligent, thoughtful, his father's shadow. Aragorn was a very different kind of father from King Thranduil, however, which Legolas thought would ultimately be to Eldarion's benefit.

Legolas loved and respected his father, but regretted the unbending harshness that hardened the hearts and features of both his father and his older brother. He could not remember a single time in his life when his father had ever gotten down on the floor to play with his sons, or taken an afternoon away from duty to enjoy a spontaneous outing. Even revelry had to be planned in Eryn Lasgalen. Eldarion, on the other hand, was fortunate to be young in a world that was more peaceful than the one in which Legolas himself had grown up. And he was blessed to have a father who delighted in his family and easily showed his love. Legolas suspected that his own father would take such displays of enthusiastic affection as signs of weakness, but he himself thought the young royals of Gondor amply blessed.

The elder princess, Eliel, showed all the signs that she had inherited her mother's famed beauty. He did not begrudge Aragorn the trouble that he would likely have on his hands when the princess reached marriageable age. She was generally good humored, though she could be a handful when her temper was provoked, and she loved all things feminine. At the moment she and her Auntie Pearl were on the far side of the room next to the window taking their imaginary afternoon tea.

He watched the elleth fondly for a moment as he took in her ease with the children, her willingness to let down her guard and play. She was gentle and sweet with them, firmly patient when necessary and always loving. He liked watching her join in the children's games for it was in those moments that the shadow that seemed to linger upon her spirit lifted and she was able to freely enjoy the moment. It was no wonder that she had become an integral part of the family. He quickly turned his eyes away when he caught the sharp look Eliel cast Isilmei when she noticed Legolas's stare. The little one was rather jealous of his affections, it seemed, and he did not wish to cause rancor between his beloved niece and her auntie.

The younger princess who so firmly gripped his fingers now was a fascinatingly different creature from her older sister. Gilrael had a wildness about her, a ferocity, that reminded Legolas of Aragorn's ranger days. She was surprisingly strong for her size and age, and lusty in her appetites and preferences. When Gilrael was unhappy about something, everyone within hearing range knew about it. By the same token her laugh was so carefree and easy, so readily offered, that one could not remain somber in her presence. She had the wavy dark hair and blue eyes shared by her siblings and parents, but her spirit was all her own. And it burned very brightly indeed.

Gilrael knew no fear. At the moment her considerable strength of will was focused on walking toward the window with his aid. She had the habit of sticking her tongue out when she was concentrating, which Legolas found strangely adorable. Her sharp blue eyes were focused on the tea-sipping ladies by the window as her halting steps brought her ever closer. Legolas was unsure what Gilrael wanted more, the glittering tiara that Gimli had made his precious Eliel sparkling against the girl's dark tresses; the multitude of pink ribbons Eliel had tied in Isilmei's shining hair, or the plate of sweets sitting on the table between them.

Isilmei's eyes found his when he glanced up. "You are becoming most adept at helping a youngling learn to walk, Uncle Legolas."

He smiled. "I can see why you enjoy spending time with them."

"It's good practice. When you have your own elflings you will be well ahead of most new fathers, I would imagine."

Her smile was playful, and he felt a mischievous grin of his own spreading across his face. "I would first have to find the right elleth with whom to have them," he quipped as he quirked an eyebrow.

Eliel had been watching the exchange pointedly and had the beginnings of a good pout forming on her pink lips. "Auntie Pearl," Eliel began primly, "Uncle Leg is _my_ prince. Can you please find another?"

"Oh, well I am sorry, my dear," Isilmei said as good humor twinkled in her eyes. "Perhaps the prince should join you at tea while I help your sister back across the room."

Eliel smiled brightly as Isilmei stood and plucked a sweet from the plate before holding it out toward Gilrael. She had to repeat the gesture when Legolas pulled one hand free from his tiny charge to snatch the treat from her fingers and pop it into his own mouth. They were _his_ favorites, after all. He grinned at the look of mock-indignation she shot him. During their brief exchange, Eliel refilled Isilmei's abandoned cup with imaginary tea before gesturing ever so daintily at the vacated seat. "Uncle Leg, won't you please join me for tea?"

Isilmei smirked at him as he stared at the tiny, low chair while he tried to determine how he could possibly fold his long frame enough to sit.

"You may find it helpful to stretch first," Isilmei told him as he transferred Gilrael's fingers to her slim hands. He glared at her in disapproval before turning back toward his niece.

Eliel watched him with a placidly expectant look – that of a princess who knows she will be obeyed. When it took him a moment to determine how best to contort his long frame to sit upon the child-sized furniture, his niece cleared her throat as she continued to gesture toward the unoccupied chair. "Uncle Leg?" No sooner had he managed to lower himself onto the infernal contraption than Eliel smiled sweetly at him before addressing her auntie. "We are to be married, you know."

Isilmei's brows climbed toward her hairline almost as fast as Legolas's own. He was speechless.

"Really?" Isilmei asked as a puckish smile spread across her face. "Does your father know about this?"

Traitorous elleth. Suddenly Legolas found that he did not like her very much at all. He narrowed his eyes in silent reprimand as he tried to figure out what would have caused Eliel to say such a thing.

The wee princess looked thoughtful. "I suppose we should tell him."

"No!" Legolas said, louder than he intended.

At the very same time, Isilmei said, "Yes! I think that's only fair. He will need some time to prepare himself for your wedding."

"That will be quite enough out of you, Auntie Pearl," Legolas said evenly.

Temporary salvation appeared in the form of the queen as Arwen swept through the doorway with her son in tow. She stopped when she saw Legolas, grinning hugely at the contortions he had been forced to make to join her daughter for tea. His long limbs were far better suited to any number of other occupations than that in which he currently found himself.

Arwen looked regal in a gown of deep purple. The tree and stars of Gondor were embroidered in silver thread on her bodice, and her crown – a more delicate version of the one her husband wore – gleamed against her hair. Mischief glittered in her blue eyes. "Well, Legolas, you have come a long way since your days of prowling through the woods in search of orcs, yes? I am pleased to see that my daughter has had a civilizing influence on you."

"Oh, just wait until you hear the rest," he heard Isilmei whisper under her breath. He felt the urge to throw her over his shoulder and physically remove her from the room.

Eliel beamed at her mother's praise as Legolas attempted to diffuse the situation with humor. He had long since become accustomed to a certain amount of teasing whenever he was caught in a moment such as this, which he was never shy about returning. Isilmei would get her payback in due course, but right now he needed to change the topic of conversation before Eliel had a chance to share her "news" with her mother. Shifting his glance back and forth between the two ellith, he issued an aggrieved sniff as he lifted his cup, carefully extended his pinky finger, and sipped his make-believe tea.

Fortunately for him Arwen clapped her hands to focus the attention of all three of her children before Eliel said anything else. "Come, my loves. I have managed to steal your father away from his responsibilities for the afternoon. We're going on a picnic."

Eliel clapped her hands in a perfect imitation of her mother as she flew out of her chair. "Oh, can I wear my crown, please?"

"Of course you _may_, precious. It looks so pretty on you," her mother said with a smile as she stroked the girl's dark curls. Legolas sincerely hoped that her pretty crown would divert Eliel's attention from any more talk of pending matrimony.

As Eliel twirled a happy circle with her arms spread out to either side, Eldarion quickly crossed to his toy chest and removed a pint-sized wooden practice sword. He turned toward his mother with hopeful eyes. "Will Ada help me train, Nana?"

Arwen favored her son with a smile as Isilmei stood and lifted Gilrael before passing her to her mother. "We'll ask and see, son. Let us go. We don't want to keep him waiting!" She took Gilrael in her arms as she looked toward Legolas and Isilmei. "This is a beautiful afternoon, my friends. Perhaps the two of you could go for a ride and take in the lovely sunshine?" With a playful smile and a swirl of aubergine, she was gone.

It was suddenly quiet and unnaturally still in the room, as though the space itself felt the loss of the children. He levered himself out of the child-sized chair as he decided that Arwen's subtle-as-a-dwarf suggestion sounded like a lovely idea indeed. "Well? We have our orders." Isilmei smiled as she slid Eliel's ribbons out of her hair. When he reached her side, he extended his elbow. "Shall we?"

She laughed as she tucked her hand into his arm. "Why not? Just don't tell your bride-to-be. As you heard she claims you for her own. She would be very put out indeed if she realized that another female monopolized your time for a few hours."

"I will have to put an end to that particular _idea _as gently as possible," he said with a frown as he led her from the nursery. "_You_ could have been more helpful, by the way."

A delighted giggle was her only response. Legolas was curious when Isilmei paused at the door to her room and ducked inside to grab a full-length cloak. She demurred when he asked her why she needed it, which served only to heighten his curiosity, yet she refused to say more.

They enjoyed a pleasant walk to the stables. He realized that Arwen must have planned far enough ahead to leave instructions, because when they arrived their horses, Arod and Nim, were already tacked up and ready to go. Nim, named for the silver coat which echoed the color of the River Nimrodel, looked in some ways like a lighter, sleeker version of Arod. The two of them were a striking pair standing side by side.

Legolas grew concerned when Isilmei covered herself completely with the cloak before she mounted Nim. When he again asked why she chose to don a cloak on such a mild day, she promised to explain when they were outside the city. Only his sharp Elven ears were able to pick up the words from under the thick velvet obscuring her face and muffling her voice.

Their ride through the city was quiet, though he began to notice a phenomenon to which he had not previously paid attention. As they descended away from the Tower and the King's House into the lower circles of the city, countless pairs of eyes followed them as their horses trotted along. Most seemed to focus on Legolas himself, but more than a few curious stares lingered on his cloaked companion. Had the few short man-years since Aragorn and Arwen's wedding been enough to make the sight of the Eldar such a noteworthy event in Minas Tirith? Surely Arwen appeared among her people frequently enough that the sight of pointed ears was not that unusual?

When he switched to Sindarin and asked Isilmei quietly if the prying eyes were the reason she wore a shroud through the city, she answered in the affirmative. For the first time he felt somewhat uncomfortable riding through the city streets. He did not sense any danger, but when he looked more closely he realized that some of the eyes on him held distrust and unease. Was it really so easy for men to forget the long history between the Elves and the people of Gondor? Were the people looking at him so strangely now immigrants from other lands who had never seen the Eldar before?

Suddenly he understood Isilmei's strange attire. While it would not have occurred to him to cover himself, and he felt no need to do so now, he also knew that he was well capable of defending himself in the unlikely event that any of the men casting hostile glances grew so bold as to follow through their dark looks with action. Isilmei's nature was soft and undeniably feminine. Legolas knew that some men were irresistibly drawn to her kind of energy for all the wrong reasons. He also recalled hearing that until she came to Minas Tirith she had not traveled outside of her native Lorien. Legolas himself had traveled widely in Middle Earth and was comfortable in any number of settings. The unwanted attention from strangers must be off-putting to her. Still, she should be able to travel about her adopted home without feeling as though she had to hide herself away in order to do it.

"I do not like that you feel you have to cover yourself to go about in your own city," he said quietly.

"It is not my city. I am but a guest."

"It is your city at the moment. You should feel free to move about however you like."

"It is just _simpler_ to avoid drawing attention to myself."

"This is why you do not ride anymore. Am I right?" He kept his tone soft, but the intensity of his inquiry was clear.

She nodded.

Legolas wondered if his musings on the untoward tendencies of some men had already become reality. "Isilmei, has someone harmed you while you were away from the King's House?" Her hesitation in answering alarmed him further.

"No," she finally said quietly. "Not overmuch."

"What does that mean?" He no longer sought to keep his voice down, and was more than willing to confront anyone who had dared offend the honor of the lady beside him. "Does Aragorn know about this?"

"No, please, Legolas," she finally turned to face him as they approached the Great Gate. "Nothing has happened that warrants this reaction. I just do not like the stares I have drawn from some of the men. It seems prudent to be discreet."

"This is unacceptable," he insisted with a firm shake of his head.

"Please," she implored, "I do not wish to cause a problem for the king. May we speak of pleasanter topics? It is too nice a day to waste it discussing my insecurities."

"I do not think you should ever be made to feel insecure," he told her with quiet conviction. His protective instincts were out in force as they exited through the Great Gate.

His companion refused to say more about the matter, but he noted with satisfaction that as their mounts moved into a smooth canter that carried them away from the city, Isilmei allowed her hood to fall away from her face. The breeze caught in her hair, lifting strands to float like silken banners behind her. He could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched her face glow with delight as Nim carried her swiftly across the plain. When she held her hands out wide and threw her head back as she laughed, he laughed along with her and urged Arod to an even faster pace. Nim easily kept up with the mighty palfrey's long strides.

They allowed their horses to slow to an ambling walk when they reached a particularly succulent portion of grass. With the quiet sounds of contented munching and the gentle breeze whispering through the grasses to set the mood, Legolas allowed himself to relax as he slipped off Arod's back and reached up to help Isilmei dismount. The lingering disquiet he felt at her revelation must have registered on his face, for she quickly sought to change the topic of conversation.

"Tell me of Ithilien," she said. "What progress have you made since your last visit?"

He was on to her redirection, but allowed it for the moment for he knew that he would most certainly be addressing the issue later with Aragorn. "You can see for yourself." He reached into the special pocket between his doublet and tunic and withdrew a folded parchment. As she unfolded it he moved to stand behind her so that he could peek over her shoulder. "These are my designs for the main buildings."

"You carry them with you?"

"Yes, for I am constantly making additions and modifications." He smiled at the raised eyebrow and look of amusement she gave him.

"Your builders must find that terribly vexing."

"I have not turned them over to the builders yet; but it is nearly time. I have secured stonemasons and carpenters and hope to make final adjustments over the next few weeks. Then it will be time to release the drawings and begin construction."

She nodded, returning her attention to his sketches. He was pleased by the approval in her eyes when she looked over her shoulder. "You have a lovely eye for design." She pointed at one of the larger buildings. "Is this the library?"

"Yes." He reached around her to point out several other buildings. "And there is the Council Chamber. And over here will be the Houses of Healing."

"Where will your people live?"

"Plans for the residences are here," he said as he pulled out another parchment. He unfolded it as he handed it over.

Her face was contemplative as she studied his plans. He held his breath until he saw a soft smile curve the corners of her mouth. "Legolas, you amaze me."

He smiled at her, holding her gaze for as long as she would let him when she looked up. He was still smiling when she turned her attention once more to his drawings. Could that be a hint of blush coloring her cheeks when she broke their gaze?

"You have accounted for everything. No matter from which realm your subjects come, they will find something in your new settlement that reminds them of home. And yet the combination of elements is entirely new and unique to Ithilien. I am impressed by what you have done here."

He felt almost bashful under her sincere praise. "Thank you," he said as he took the plans from her outstretched hand and returned them to his pocket. "I wish to honor our collective history, but I want Ithilien to be a new start for everyone who chooses to join me. I want it to be a new start for me as well."

She must have picked up on his complex feelings about Eryn Lasgalen, for her voice was empathetic when next she spoke. "Home is not home for you any longer?"

"No." He removed Arod's bridle and secured it to the saddle before patting his friend on the neck and sending him off to graze.

Isilmei nodded as she did the same with her mare. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

He did not, though he was not sure how to explain himself. "I am…different. My father and brother and I rarely see eye to eye. And though I will always love it, I have realized that I do not belong in Eryn Lasgalen."

"But you are the prince," she said as her forehead creased in confusion. "After all that you have experienced, what you did as part of the Fellowship…You are hailed as a hero no matter where you go. How could you possibly feel as though you do not belong anywhere you like?"

He shrugged. "I have seen many things and fought many battles, it is true. In a way I was raised to fight more than anything else. My brother was the one who was raised to rule Eryn Lasgalen, not me. I was the second son. I was raised to be a commander of our army. You have to understand that life is very different in my father's halls than in any other Elven realm."

"How so?"

He searched for the right words as he watched an eagle soar in lazy circles high overhead. "Do you know that your grandmother possessed one of the great rings of power?" The horses wandered lazily through the grass in search of the best morsels, and Legolas and his companion followed at an ambling pace.

"Of course, though I did not learn of it until after the war. It was something of which she did not speak. She said the three were kept secret to hide them from the Enemy."

"Yes. Of the four Elven realms remaining in Middle Earth, three were in close proximity to Sauron's threat. Mithlond alone was far enough removed that, well, during the Third Age at least, its citizens did not have to worry as did those of us who lived closer to Mordor."

She nodded her understanding.

"Of the three realms in Sauron's shadow, two were protected by the power of the three. Only Mirkwood was without the aid of such a potent and valuable tool."

There was a question in her eyes when she looked at him.

"My father did not lust for a ring, exactly, but he was keenly aware that his lack of such an advantage made our realm, and our people, vulnerable in ways that those in Lothlorien and Imladris were not."

"You spoke once of elflings in Mirkwood being born with quiver and bow in hand." Her expression was thoughtful as she spoke.

"Exactly. Our woods were plagued by spiders, trolls, and other foul beasts. Service in the Guard was not an option, but was mandatory for all males and as many females as were willing to serve. Our realm survived only on the strength and ability of our fighting forces. As a result our society was – and still is – organized very differently from the other Elven realms. In some ways we are more like certain settlements of men."

"What do you mean?"

"Those in Mirkwood did not enjoy the same freedoms known to you in Lothlorien, for example. Elflings were assigned their adult roles at birth, and were raised with very demanding expectations as to how they would prepare themselves for their futures. Military training was mandatory for all elflings, regardless of their assigned role. That is, until we stopped having elflings all together."

He expected the look of quiet protest that passed across her features in light of her sheltered upbringing. "That sounds very…harsh."

"It some ways it was," he admitted, "but Adar felt it necessary for our survival. He is involved in every aspect of life in our forest. We survived, and even thrived, because of his strength of will and his determination that our people be able to take care of themselves."

She nodded her acceptance. "And now?"

"Life continues much the same as it did before," he said with a shrug. "We have no current enemy to fight, but there are still orcs in the woods, and more than a few spiders. We do not know what the morrow will bring, but we know routine, and preparation, and readiness. And so most cling to the ways that they know. Except those of us for whom the old ways are no longer enough."

"Those such as yourself?"

"Yes. I understand my adar's methodology, but it has never set especially well with me. Perhaps because he did not raise me."

He could sense her surprise even before he looked toward her to see the wide-eyed look she gave him. "You did not live with your parents?"

"I lived with my adar, yes, and my brother. My naneth sailed a long time ago. After she left, Adar redoubled his focus upon his duties. Ferion and I were expected to do the same."

He felt her long fingers caress the inside of his elbow as they slipped into the crook of his arm. He appreciated the silent understanding he felt from her, and bent his arm to guide her closer to his side. He allowed himself to draw succor from her kind presence and her willingness to listen. He was not entirely sure why he found it so easy to pour his heart out to this elleth, but he could not deny that it felt good to talk to someone who listened without judgment.

"My role, as the spare prince, was to become a great commander of our army. Most of my time was spent with General Bergelir. He became a father figure to me, and in many ways is more responsible for the ellon I have become than my adar is. The general had no children of his own, but he did his best to guide me as he trained me to fight."

"Did you dislike your training?"

"No, quite the opposite. I was a good student and a good fighter from an early age. I enjoyed the feeling of physical and mental exhaustion that followed a long day of training. I liked developing my skills and winning sparring matches. As I got older, I liked teaching younger Elves how to fight. And I liked knowing that I was becoming capable of defending the people and places that I love. It gave me a sense of accomplishment, of purpose." He rested his fingers atop hers as he gave her a self-effacing grin. "To a second-born prince who was not considered important enough to be included in the administration of the kingdom, that was important to me. But now everything has changed."

"Because the Enemy has been defeated."

"Yes. Eryn Lasgalen does not depend on its army the way that Mirkwood did. Serving in the Guard is no longer enough for me. I want something else."

"Ithilien." Her knowing grin was pleasingly wide, showing just a hint of dimple on either side of her mouth. He liked the way her smile heightened the heart-shape of her face, the way the flare of high cheekbones narrowed to the sculpted point of her chin.

"I want to _build_ something, not destroy things or simply maintain what others have built. I want a new purpose for my life – one that _means_ something. Otherwise I might as well go ahead and sail into the West. I feel the Longing, but I also feel that it is not yet my time to give in to it. There is more here that needs to be done."

"I feel certain that you are not the only one searching for a new purpose in this new age."

If he had not been looking so closely at her, he would have missed it – but there it was again, that shadow. He thought he began to understand at least part of what caused it to darken her sweet spirit. "I see something in your eyes," he said softly. "Something I have seen before but think I may be just beginning to understand. You live here now, but you do not consider it home, do you?"

"No."

"You do not wish to return to Lorien either."

She shook her head.

"Will you tell me why?"

She turned her head to stare out over the grasslands as she answered him. A deep sigh escaped her as she spoke. "Because all those I care about most have either sailed or died. I understand from the letters I receive that the city is fading in Grandmother's absence. It is not my home anymore."

His heart went out to her, for he suspected that they had even more in common than he had realized. He carried with him memories of friends and compatriots who had fought beside him and fallen defending the Woodland Realm. He could not help the momentary flash of pain he felt when he recalled learning of General Bergelir's death during the Ring War. He felt the old general's absence keenly every time he visited home. "Lord Celeborn spends most of his time in Imladris now," he said, recalling the many times she had mentioned her foster-grandfather and the love that shone from her eyes whenever she spoke of him. "Have you thought about going to him?"

"Frequently, but he does not wish it." The sad longing in her voice was unmistakable. "He wishes me to master Atani medicine before I make any plans to leave Minas Tirith."

"What do _you_ want, Isil?" Too well did he understand how it felt to spend all one's time doing what others wanted at the expense of one's own desires.

She shrugged. "I do not know. I love my family here, and it is not a bad place to be…but it is not my home."

"You should consider coming to Ithilien. We are not the only two who are in need of a fresh start. You would be among like-minded souls, I suspect."

"I will consider it." It was not an acceptance, not quite, but he felt that his first attempt at recruiting a settler was not entirely in vain. And he felt he understood her better than he had before, and liked her all the more for it.

He smiled as he patted her hand that continued to rest in the bend of his arm. "In the mean time, it would make me happy if you would consider removing that cloak. It is too nice a day to hide your beauty under all that fabric."

She gave him a bashful smile but did not seem to mind when he raised his hands to untie the cord holding it about her neck and slipped it off her shoulders. He folded it loosely before slinging it over his shoulder and tucking her hand back into his arm. They walked for a long while without speaking, and he hoped she felt as he did – content with their companionable silence and less alone than he had felt in a long while.

TBC…


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Holding On and Letting Go**

_Six months later…_

Arwen sat with Isilmei in the Queen's Parlor. The room was located on an upper level of the Tower and served as the primary gathering place for the queen and her ladies. Her parlor was by far Arwen's favorite room outside of the royal apartments. It had been fitted out to remind her of her father's study in Imladris, with her own touches that made it reflective of her personality as well as her home and family. Richly carved wood decorated the ceiling which was dotted with warmly glowing lamps. Beautiful parquet flooring was softened with plush rugs and the walls were adorned with tapestries Arwen had brought with her from home. Her favorite tapestry was one that her mother had woven with her own fine hands, depicting the whole of Imladris as it looked when first glimpsed from the bridge. The room's high location within the Tower and its many large windows offered a view that reminded her of open-aired rooms jutting out over the River Bruinen. All she lacked was the rushing sound of running water to complete the effect.

What was unusual about this day was that she and her cousin were the room's only occupants. Arwen had sent the rest of her ladies-in-waiting to oversee preparations for the upcoming Midsummer Festival so that she and her cousin could enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet. Each of them sat with a garment in hand, working diligently to complete the children's festival costumes.

A young maid entered holding in both hands a gilded tray upon which rested a carafe and pair of chalices. Arwen smiled at the maid as she approached. This young one was one of Arwen's favorites. She was not a native of Gondor but had found her way, along with several members of her family, to Minas Tirith during the war in search of refuge. Ruddy-cheeked and friendly, she had a kind heart and a hard-working demeanor. She was one of few household attendants Arwen allowed to assist with the children.

"Gillyflower, how nice to see you today. You are looking well," Arwen smiled.

The maid bowed politely. "Thank you, Your Majesty. If it pleases you I have brought yourself and the Lady Isilmei refreshment." She filled a chalice and handed it to Arwen.

Isilmei gave the maid a warm smile and her thanks as she accepted a proffered beverage.

Arwen took a moment to study the girl, for there was something different about her today. She was practically glowing in a way that mortals seldom achieved. She was radiant with happiness.

"Gilly," she began, "you seem in particularly bright spirits today. Is there some news of which I have not heard?" It was a nosy question, perhaps, but as a queen who was most interested in the health and happiness of her subjects she felt she had the prerogative too pry a little.

Her words piqued Isilmei's curiosity as well; for she lowered the skirt she was hemming and regarded the girl. Arwen knew that her young cousin and this maid had become friendly during Isilmei's time at court. Their bond was formed over losses suffered during the war, for both Gillyflower and Isilmei had lost beloveds in those dark days. It had cheered Arwen that the young elleth and mortal girl had each found solace in knowing that someone else personally understood the difficulty of moving on and letting go of one held dear.

Gilly blushed as she dropped a curtsey. "Yes, Ma'am. I mean…there might be."

Arwen gave a soft laugh and favored the girl with another smile. "If it is good news we would love to hear it."

Beside her Isilmei nodded her encouragement.

"I am to be married," Gillyflower said softly.

"Gilly, how lovely! The King and I are very happy for you. Who is the lucky man?"

"Caldor of the King's Guard." Gilly's round cheeks blushed prettily and her bow-tie mouth curved upward in a shy smile as she spoke the name of her intended.

Beside her, Arwen felt her cousin bristle involuntarily before attempting to hide her reaction behind a tight smile. The reason of her response could be discovered later, but the maid deserved nothing but kind words during such a happy time. "He is a fine man, Gilly," Arwen said. "I wish you many long years of love and joy together."

Her cousin took the hint, as Arwen knew she would. "Congratulations, Gilly," Isilmei said quietly.

"Thank you, Ma'am, my Lady. Please let me know if I can bring you anything else."

After the girl curtsied again and left the room, Arwen waited for Isilmei to raise her eyes or say something. Silence stretched between them as her cousin bent her head farther down than was necessary to focus all her attention on Gilrael's hem. Something was clearly plaguing her mind, however, for her mouth was pressed into a firm straight line and her fingers jabbed harshly at the fabric in her hands as though attacking it. She drew in quick, shallow breaths.

"Her news upsets you?" Arwen pressed in quiet Sindarin. Better to have such a conversation in a language that Gilly, or any other member of the staff who passed by, would not understand.

Isilmei stopped, startled out of her thoughts to turn up wide eyes. She began to shake her head in denial, but when Arwen raised a challenging brow, Isilmei released a deep sigh and seemed to melt against the back of her chair. "It should not, but yes, I suppose it does."

"Why?"

Isilmei pursed her lips together in disapproval as she sat up straight once more. "She swore an oath to Amdiron, and felt the pain of losing him. And yet so quickly she has turned around and given her heart to another!" She flapped one hand toward the doorway in exasperation. "I do not understand how she could do something like that."

"Isil, she has moved on," Arwen said as a crease of disapproval formed between her brows. Why was her cousin so upset over this news? "It is the way of life."

The younger elleth shook her head stubbornly. "But if she truly loved Amdiron, then how could she move on so quickly?"

"It has been nearly ten years!" Arwen's exclamation was incredulous. "That is a very long time to a mortal."

"Still, I do not understand how she could forget her first love and all that she says he meant to her and put him aside for another." Stormy blue eyes revealed the depth of her cousin's confusion and distress.

Arwen knew from experience that once Isilmei latched on to a point, it could be difficult to get her to change her mind, but she began to suspect she knew the true cause of her cousin's outrage. "Amdiron is dead," she said patiently. "Gilly has accepted his loss and made the decision not to join him prematurely in the grave."

"Well, I do not know how to accept then," Isilmei sniffed, "because it seems to me she has betrayed her oath."

Her words confirmed Arwen's suspicions. "This is about Haldir."

"Perhaps," Isilmei finally admitted as her eyes dropped back to Gilrael's costume.

Arwen fixed her cousin with a pointed look and waited for her to look up again.

Blue eyes clouded by frustration and pain finally met hers. "Yes, it is about Haldir."

"Isil, why do you insist on punishing yourself so?" Arwen felt both a wave of sympathy for her cousin's wounded heart and disappointment that Isilmei failed to understand Gilly's joy.

"How am I punishing myself?" Isilmei asked indignantly. "What I am doing is holding fast to the oath I made to him. Does he not deserve as much, when he had been a loyal friend to me since my very earliest days?"

"If he had lived, then yes," Arwen agreed. "And I have no doubt that both of you would have kept your vows had he lived to fulfill them." She allowed her voice and expression to soften as she took in the swell of grief in her cousin's face. "But, my darling, he is gone. I see no reason for your life to end because his did. You were not bound to him. You need not insist on suffering the way that you do."

Anger flashed across Isilmei's eyes. "I do not 'insist on suffering,' Arwen. I want…only…" Arwen could hear the tears gathering in her cousin's throat as she struggled to find the right words. "I want only to be as loyal to him as he was to me. If I ever allowed myself to love another, then it would be the same as being unfaithful to him. Our kind does not commit such crimes."

Arwen shook her head in disagreement. "Infidelity occurs only if the union has been consummated. You know this." A sudden flash of horror hit her as she realized the potential implications of what her cousin had just said. She leaned across the short distance between then and grabbed Isilmei's chin to look hard into her eyes. "Are you saying that you…"

"No, we had not bonded," Isilmei said as she shook her head and pulled her chin out of Arwen's grasp. "But I gave him my heart, and my word." She roughly swiped a hand across her cheek to brush away the tears clinging to her lower lashes. "How are they to mean anything at all if I do not make good on my promises? I told him I would be his forever, and I wanted to be. _Want_ to be."

Arwen's astonishment and disapproval softened once more to sympathy as she regarded the sadness so obvious in the young one sitting beside her. No doubt she would have made the Marchwarden of Lorien a fine wife; and having come so close to losing her own love during the War of the Ring, Arwen personally understood much of what Isilmei was feeling. And yet life had to go on, to move forward instead of backward, and she had to find a way to make her cousin understand that. It was a very large part of what their grandmother had asked of Arwen when she entrusted Isilmei into Arwen's keeping. "If you had died, and he had lived," she began as she laid one hand on top of her cousin's, "and if by some means you could see him from the Halls, would you want him to suffer? Would you want him to linger in doubt and sorrow for the rest of his life?"

"Of course not!"

She gave her cousin a gentle smile. "Then is it really so difficult to imagine that he would feel the same way about you? That instead of the isolation in which you lock yourself, that he would want you to do whatever it took for you to find happiness and to live your life to the fullest?"

"Haldir would have loved me," Isilmei said with quiet certainty as she brushed at the tears which slipped past her lashes, "and he would have stood by me, no matter what. Forever. I believe I have a responsibility, a duty, to do the same for him. He is not here to live out our love, but I am. And I can still feel all that my heart holds for him. I remember the way he made me feel. I can see the look of joy on his face when I promised to bind myself to him."

Arwen leaned forward to hug her cousin tightly. "I did not know him as well as you," she whispered, "but I know without doubt that he would not want to see you prolong your own pain. He would have done anything to keep you from harm." She leaned back to meet her cousin's eyes for she was certain of what she wanted to say next and wanted Isilmei to see her conviction. The Marchwarden's soft spot for the young one sitting before her had been plain for all to see. "I believe it would hurt him gravely to see you harming yourself with your worries and your sadness."

"What would you have me do, Arwen?" Isilmei looked lost. "Find a handsome lad about the court and just…_decide_ to love him?"

Her cousin's stubbornness was beginning to prick Arwen's temper. "No, silly," she said as she took a deep breath to shore up her patience. "I would have you preserve Haldir's memory in your heart, but allow yourself the room you need to heal and the courage to love again when the right ellon comes into your life." Secretly, or, well, not so secretly actually, Arwen knew that the right ellon had already come along. She and Aragorn agreed that in the handful of potential suitors who had pressed for permission to pay court to Isilmei since she had come to live with them; there was only one who was the true match. And for his part, Legolas seemed well on the way to realizing the rightness of their pairing. If only she could get Isilmei to do the same!

Isilmei's eyes had once again grown stormy as Arwen had entertained her hopes for her cousin's future. When Arwen looked at the younger elleth once more, she could see that her cousin was not yet ready to let go of her dark thoughts. "If you had done what your father wanted, if you had sailed to the Undying Lands, severing yourself from Aragorn forever, would _you_ be able to so easily snap your fingers and put him out of your heart so that you could accept another?"

"Of course not," Arwen said as she attempted to stifle her rising ire. "But that was not the choice we faced. If I had left him here, I would have done so willingly. Haldir did not willingly fall in battle. He did not leave you because he decided to; he had no choice in the matter." Arwen's spine stiffened and she picked up her sewing to channel her annoyance at having her husband dragged into this discussion into useful activity. "Your comparison is invalid."

"Grandmother told me that time would make the hurt better," Isilmei said as her shoulders sagged in defeat and sorrow, "but I remain unconvinced."

Arwen took a moment to regain her composure before gazing once again at her cousin. Isilmei's grief softened Arwen's heart, for there had been a time during the war when she thought Aragorn was lost to her. In that moment, she knew that she would not survive his loss, and very well could have faded if not for her father's intervention. She then realized the tremendous strength of will possessed by her young cousin, for though Isilmei missed her intended every day, she carried on as best she was able. Arwen understood all too well that it was no small feat.

"Perhaps you need a little more time." She leaned forward to cover her cousin's hand once again. "Only do not dwell in this sad place forever, cousin. Time has become very precious to me since I made my choice. I do not take it for granted any longer, because Aragorn and I do not have an unlimited number of days to love each other and our family. And so we make as much out of every moment together as we possibly can." She smiled as Isilmei nodded her understanding. "I would like to see you safe and happy within the arms of one who loves you, for you deserve to be loved."

Isilmei attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stifle a sob as she leaned forward to throw an arm around Arwen's shoulders and hug her tightly. Arwen returned the embrace and tucked a wayward strand of pale blonde hair behind her cousin's ear when they separated.

"I think I should like to retire to my room for a little while if I may," Isilmei said.

"Of course," Arwen said as she lifted Gilrael's costume from Isilmei's lap. Her cousin rose and swiftly left the room on silent feet. Arwen watched after the retreating figure for a long moment, finally deciding that she would discuss the matter with Aragorn later. Perhaps her husband would have some advice that would help her assist her cousin in overcoming her grief.

TBC…

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(_Author's Note_: The gloom starts to lift after Chapter 16. Promise!)


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Spirit Journeys and Realizations**

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(_Author's Note_: I tend to turn my nose up at exactly the kind of author's note that I now find myself composing (So, I'll try not to be such a hypocrite in the future!). I feel the need to say the following about Chapter 16: I'm not sure how this is going to go over; and I am nervous about posting it in a way that I have not been about previous chapters. I am knowingly stretching certain tenets of canon more than usual in 16. Hopefully they have stretched without breaking. My challenge to myself in creating the conversation below came from a thread of discussion at a recent gathering. The question posed was: If you had an hour to spend with someone you've lost, what would you say to that person? The following scene is how I imagine that type of conversation taking place between a certain pair of lovebirds.)

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_Several days later…_

Shortly after her weary mind slipped into reverie, she found herself walking through a field of tall golden grasses dotted with pink blossoms toward a forest that burst with color and life. Summer was in full bloom in this place, lush with vigor and beauty. In the distance she could both glimpse and hear what must be the sea. White birds with black-tipped wings circled above the water and called to one another in pure, high voices. She could feel their joy even from far away. As she glanced down at the soft grasses brushing her feet, she saw that she was in her nightgown. _'Had I not just lay down to sleep? This does not feel like a dream. How did I get here?'_

She had never been to this place, but knew it must be Aman. What other place could be more beautiful, more serene? A tall figure stepped from the tree line in front of her.

Isilmei stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating, when she recognized the form clad in dark breeches and tunic topped by a familiar gray cloak. There were already tears on her face as she sprang forward and dashed toward him.

He grinned as he ran for her, his arms outstretched as he caught her and wrapped her up in his embrace.

Her throat nearly clogged with emotion, her breath came in shallow gasps as she clung to him. "Haldir." She repeated his name over and over as she covered his face with kisses until her body shook with the force of her sobs. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and poured out her sorrow. She was dimly aware that she had a white-knuckled hold on his hair, but she could not bring herself to release him or lean back even enough to look into his eyes. She clung to him with all the might within her, determined not to release him so that he could not disappear from her life again.

He held her tightly, whispering endearments in her ear as she vented her sorrow onto his shoulder and her tears soaked his skin and garments. She welcomed the force of his arms as they crushed her to his solid chest, begging him to never let go of her again. When her sobs had subsided to occasional hiccups, he gently pried her arms from around his neck and leaned back enough to look into her eyes.

"My beloved Isilmei." He smiled tenderly as he cupped her face with both of his strong hands, smoothing away her tears with his thumbs. "I am so sorry I caused you so much pain."

She sniffled and reached for him as she looked at him in wonder. Her index finger traced the perfect vee of his upper lip. "It matters not anymore," she told him. "We are together now. What is this place? Is this Valinor? Are your parents here? Are my parents here? Is Grandmother?"

Dread slithered in her belly at the sorrow that rose to cloud his eyes as he listened to her questions. "Sweetling…" he began.

"No," she said with a brittle shake of her head, cutting him off and unwilling to hear anything other than that he would stay with her forever and she would never have to leave his side again. "No, do not say it. Do not say anything that will tell me this is not real, that you are not here with me. Haldir, I would follow you to the end of the world or wherever else you would lead me, only let me be with you. Let me stay by your side as I swore I would. I belong with you."

His eyes were the gray of an early morning mist as tears gathered and slid silently down his cheeks. The sight of his tears was her more than she could bear. She threw herself back into his arms and grabbed his face, kissing him with all her might.

For long moments they clung to one another as their lips locked with desperate passion, their hands roaming to trace every curve and angle of each other's bodies, committing taste and scent and touch and sound to memory as they poured out their love for one another. When they had cried all the tears within them, he held her still, cocooning her within his long arms as he gently stroked her hair.

"You cannot stay, beloved," he whispered apologetically. "Your time on Middle Earth is not yet through. There are many things you have yet to do."

She stood back and faced him, determined to make him understand her point. "But do you not see? We are together now. Why should I leave? There is no reason we cannot have a life together _here_." Her fingers clutched the fabric of his cloak as she begged him to let her stay.

"You are not permanently come to the Undying Lands, my heart." His fingers toyed with her hair as he gazed at her sorrowfully. "You are here so that we may see each other for a brief while, and then you must return to Middle Earth. You have not been summoned to the Halls of Mandos."

"But I am here now," she insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. "I was slowly fading, I could feel it. I cannot stay there without you, Haldir. And so I choose not to go back."

"Sweetling, you know our history. For you to stay here you would have had to travel to Mithlond and sail here. But you did not. Neither have you received a summons to Mandos. It is not your time. This moment is a gift from the Valar," he took both of her hands in his own as he implored her to understand. "We must treasure it for what it is and allow it to pass. We are not in control of our fate in this."

She gripped his hands tightly. "I will not leave you, Haldir. I will remain by your side wherever you may go."

"You cannot enter the Halls of Mandos without a summons, my stubborn one. And you have not received such summons. And I…" he caressed her face as tears pooled in his eyes, "I must go back to the Halls. I have not been released to move freely about the Undying Lands. I do not know when, or if, that time will come. So even if you sail here, I do not know if I will be able to see you."

Desperation rose within her as her mind worked feverishly to find a solution. "But Haldir, there must be another way. A way for us to be together." Suddenly she thought of the recurring vision she always seemed to glimpse at the most inopportune moments. "I…I have seen our elflings. There are two of them."

"I know," he said with a sad nod of his golden head. "I have seen them as well." His thumb traced the curve of her brow. "Our son has your beautiful eyes."

"And our daughter has yours." She grabbed his face with both hands, imploring him with eyes red from weeping. "Let me stay with you," she begged. "Let me give you those young ones."

Frustration propelled him to back away from her, leaving her feeling utterly bereft as he moved away. "They are no more than a dream, Isilmei. They _cannot_ be. There will be _no_ elflings for me." He came back to her, reaching out to take her hand. "But there may still be for _you_."

She was horrified at his suggestion, shoving his hand away from her as a new wave of tears caught in her throat. "I do not _want_ some other ellon's offspring!" she cried. "I want _yours_!"

He caught her once more when her desolation proved too heavy for her legs to bear, holding her tightly as she sobbed. He stroked her hair and whispered his love to her as she vented her despair.

"My beloved, my precious one, you _must_ let go of a future which we cannot have." His voice was thick with tears as he spoke. "_My_ choices brought us to this, and I am so very, very sorry. I caused you so much pain by loving you. If I had not made an ill-timed declaration of love, if I had not pushed you into realizing your love for me, if we had not met before the march and pledged our troth, then perhaps you would not be suffering so right now. If I had not volunteered to go to Helm's Deep, then perhaps I could have spared you this pain. I thought I was protecting you; but instead I have hurt you terribly. Forgive me, sweet Isilmei. Forgive me. I did not understand the consequences of my actions." He knelt before her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach as his tears wet her nightgown. She held his head to her body and they cried together for a time before she sank to her knees within his arms so that they were facing one another.

She could not bear the sight and sounds of his torment, for his sorrow was even more painful to her than her own. She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed his head against her shoulder as she sought to comfort him. "There is nothing to forgive, my love," she said softly, her breath catching in her chest as she suddenly realized the truth of her words. He had inflicted no intentional wounds, and she knew with every fiber of her being that if he could have changed their fates, he would have. As would she.

And so the only question left to answer was whether or not loving him was worth the price of losing him. The answer then became obvious. "You did what you thought was best, and we both believed you would return. I know you would not have left me willingly." She knew she would give anything in that moment to take away his pain, to rip the sorrow from both their hearts and cast it into the sea.

His gaze was full of wonder when he raised his tear-streaked face to hers. "I think…"

"You did not let me finish," she said with a hint of a sad smile as she cupped his cheek. "If we had not had the opportunity to realize our love before you left Lorien, then I would have realized it only after it was too late to tell you. The joy on your face when I promised myself to you was worth this pain. I do not want to live without you, Haldir, but there is nothing that could ever make me regret loving you, or promising myself to you. There is no greater gift you could have given me than your love. All I want for myself is to be worthy of you, and to be with you."

"I think I know part of what the One has planned for you," he said reverently as he stood and raised her up with him before brushing a kiss to each of her hands. "The generosity of your spirit, the empathy with which you treat others, your caring nature – these are the things that make you so special. I can easily see why Iluvatar would want you to remain on Middle Earth. There is need of your gifts. The Enemy has done so much damage which needs to be healed." He brushed her hair behind her ears as he spoke.

Though she could not name how she knew, she understood that their time together was rapidly coming to its end. _'Please, just give us a little more time,' _she prayed. _'Please.'_ "Haldir, promise me something."

"Anything that I can."

"The more I think on it, the more I think we could not have changed what happened. If my grandmother had foreseen what would happen to you, I believe she would have said something. For me, she would have stopped you from leaving if she had known. I have to believe that. And so if there is nothing we could have done to change it, then please do not regret loving me. I could not bear that. Make me that vow."

He kissed her tenderly. "The morning of the march you brought me happiness greater than I had known in all the long years of my life. How could I regret that?" He smiled as he gently brushed away her tears with his thumbs. "I will cherish you, and the love I have for you, forever. Nothing could change that. Nothing, not even death. But in order for me to survive, I must know that you continue to live. And that you are happy."

"I miss you, Haldir," she told him as she trembled within his arms. "I miss you with every breath. I love you."

"I know. And I love you."

The never-ending ocean of tears within her welled again, and she looked at him with imploring eyes as he gently stroked her face and hair. "I feel your absence as a physical pain," she whispered. "Every time I breathe I feel it in my chest, in my fingertips. I look for you everywhere. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of you, only to turn around and you are not there. There are moments, brief ones, when I forget that you are gone until something happens I want to tell you about." Her chin quivered as she dug her fingers into the fabric covering his chest. "And then I remember that you are not on the border, soon to return."

"I swore to you I would return, and yet I could not. I feel your absence with every thought. In the Halls, we do little but think, and over and over, I remember every moment I spent with you. I watch you grow, and learn, and laugh. I see every detail of your face. And I love you with everything that is within me." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead as their tears mingled on their faces and clothing.

"I do not know how to move past this," she confessed.

"I know, but you must. It is the will of Iluvatar that you take part in his plans for Middle Earth for a time more, and in order to do that you must not fade." He gripped her hands and raised them to his lips, kissing them both before returning them to his chest. "I could not bear it if you wasted away, Isilmei. Should you become lost to Aman you will kill my fëa as well. Please vow to me that you will not allow that to happen." His features twisted with the pain of his words, which was almost more than she could bear.

"I will try to be stronger," she told him, having no idea of how she might manage it but desperate to ease his suffering.

"You _are_ strong," he said tenderly as he placed his hands upon her shoulders, "stronger than I ever gave you credit for when I was so busy trying to protect you. I believe that you can thrive in Middle Earth, and accomplish whatever tasks are set for you."

She reached to take one of his hands in both of hers, turning it over so that she could kiss his palm and nuzzle her face against his skin.

"I spoke of you to Aragorn that night," he said as he gently stroked her cheek. "At the Hornburg. I gave him a message I wanted him to give to you. Did he tell you?"

"No," she answered as she covered his fingers with her own, "but I have not made it easy on him to do so. I have…struggled to adjust, and avoid painful topics as much as possible."

He nodded his understanding. "Then I shall tell you myself. I told him to tell you that I love you. That I want you to be happy. That you deserve to be loved. I told him to tell you that I release you from your vow to me so that…"

Her head jerked upright at his words. Asking her to live without him until her time was done was one thing, but undoing the vow they had made to each other was another matter entirely. "What? I do not release myself!"

"Listen to me, Isilmei," he begged. "Please. I do not know how much more time we have. You _must_ _accept_ that I am gone. I released you from your vow so that you can make a life for yourself. I cannot bear the thought that you would put your life on hold for me and deny yourself anything, or anyone, your heart comes to desire."

'_How could he possibly think I would ever love another?'_ She wondered. "Haldir, I…"

"Listen. Do you remember what I promised you the morning I left Lorien?" He gripped her head with both hands so that she was forced to see the urgency in his eyes. "When I said that I had planned on finding you and what I was going to tell you after I returned?"

She nodded.

"Tell me."

"You said that you were going to tell me that I could always count on your friendship, regardless of whatever else happened between us." She failed to see the connection to their current conversation.

"And I hold to that promise," he said as a look of gentle love returned to his strong features. "When your time on Middle Earth is through, when you have fulfilled Iluvatar's purposes for your life and sail West at the time of your own choosing, I will be here. And if it is the will of the Valar, I will be waiting at the dock for you when you arrive. And I will always be your devoted friend. But," he paused and squeezed her cheeks to emphasize his point, "and this is crucially important to me: You must not live in stasis until that time. I do not know what Iluvatar has planned for you, only that there is a plan. You must trust in that plan and embrace your life. I will rest easy only when I know that you can smile and laugh again, when your heart has once more become light. And when I see you again, I want your tears to be those of joy, not sorrow." Tears gathered stubbornly on his lashes as he gazed intently at her face. "Can you do that for me?"

She thought he was supremely unfair, because she had no idea how she would manage to do as he asked. "How can I possibly be strong enough to face the ages without _you_, my beloved? You have always been my source of strength."

"Do not worry about the ages," he whispered hoarsely, "for they will take care of themselves. Only look to each day in its own time. Find small things that make you smile, and focus upon them. Dance, sing, laugh at every opportunity. And protect the goodness of your heart, Isilmei, because it is your greatest blessing. Do not be afraid to love. Ever. Promise me."

She was humbled by the love he so obviously held for her, for she could see in that moment that his love matched her own in its depth and intensity. "I will try, though I do not know _how_ to do what you ask. But I promise I will try."

"Thank you, my love." He placed the sweetest of kisses on her lips.

Suddenly she realized what she needed in return and she gripped his face between her hands as she pulled back to see his eyes. "Be here when I get back, Haldir. No matter what you have to do, _be here_. I will be looking for you at the shore."

"I swear that if it is within my power, it will be as you request." He pulled her into his embrace and lay down with her so that they reclined among the soft grasses of the meadow. Cradling her head to his chest he wrapped her up in his arms so securely that she felt safe for the first time in more days than she could count.

The posture he chose reminded her of the picnic they had enjoyed by the Celebrant not long before he had declared his love. She remembered that pretty afternoon and the flowers he had given her which she had then braided into her hair. Life had been so much simpler then. She stretched out beside him and snuggled against his body, weaving their fingers together as his arms surrounded her. "Rest, sweetling," he soothed. "I feel sure it has been too long since you have had any real sleep."

She became aware of a heavy lethargy pulling at her limbs. She clung to Haldir as sleep began to tug her away from him. He squeezed her tightly, pressing kisses to her hair and whispering sweet words in her ear as she drifted off.

When she awoke, the darkened walls of her bedchamber greeted her eyes instead of the lush green trees and tall golden grasses of the Undying Lands. Pale moonlight slanted in through the windows, casting silvery blue shapes on the wall in front of her. She sat up and inhaled deeply, and surprised herself by smiling instead of crying when she caught the lingering scent of Haldir's skin on her nightgown and hair.

Looking down she discovered that she was holding three perfect blossoms – one elanor and two niphredil. They were just exactly like the flowers he had given her by the Celebrant. She could not help the tears that welled in her eyes then, but she realized she meant what she had said to him. The joy of loving him had been worth the pain of losing him, and if she had it to do over again, the only thing that she would change was her initial reaction of fear when he declared himself. If she could have heard him more bravely, and been more willing to embrace his revelation instead of run from it for those few precious weeks, they could have spent that time together. She could have given him more happiness than those few brief moments standing underneath his talan.

Further sleep would be a long time in coming, she knew, and her chamber felt too small, too close. She longed for open air and starlit sky, to stand beneath the light of the moon for which she was named. Still clutching Haldir's flowers, she rose on silent feet and hurried toward the garden so that she could properly bid him farewell. She would have believed it no more than a dream if not for the flowers in her hand and the lingering scent of his skin. If he had somehow managed to be with her for those few intense moments, she trusted that he would hear the words she had left to say.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

Legolas lay on top of the duvet, sleepless and staring at the moonlight as it moved across the walls and ceiling of his bedchamber. Visiting Minas Tirith was usually a respite for him as he made time in his schedule to relax within the comfort of the family Aragorn and Arwen had made and into which they so faithfully and eagerly welcomed him. For whatever reason, however, sleep had eluded him this night. With a sigh he turned on his side to face the windows and resettled himself against the pillow.

A faint vibration drifted to his senses. He could feel, more than hear, something soft – perhaps bare feet – whispering against the stone floor. As he strained his senses to track the disturbance he decided that it definitely sounded like someone was moving, but too softly and quickly to be Edain. He rose from his bed and crossed to the window, his breath catching in his throat as he recognized the form entering the garden below.

Isilmei glided onto the grassy square, her bare feet peeking out from underneath the hem of her nightgown with each step. The moon was full, illuminating the courtyard as though it were midday. Legolas felt a tad voyeuristic when he realized that the moonlight did little to hide the silhouette of her trim figure underneath her thin white gown as she raised her arms above her head to reach for her namesake. He could see that her lips were moving, but she whispered so quietly that he could not make out her words from this distance.

He grew concerned when the moon's light glimmered in the tear tracks on her face, and more concerned still when she slowly sank to her knees in the fragrant grass. As she lowered her arms he saw that she was holding what appeared to be a small bouquet, though he was unsure what kind of flowers she carried.

Legolas was about to turn and go down to her when she took a deep breath and got back up on her feet. Slowly she began to dance, swaying gently to a tune only she could hear. Her long pale hair was unbound and glowed silver-bright in the moonlight as it trailed behind her.

"_And in the glade a light was seen_  
_Of stars in shadow shimmering._  
_Tinuviel was dancing there _  
_To music of a pipe unseen,_  
_And light of stars was in her hair,_  
_And in her raiment glimmering."_

He whispered the verse softly, thinking of the afternoon before when he watched her sing portions of the _Lay of Luthien_ to the children. He found that just like Beren so long ago when he first beheld Luthien, Legolas was himself enchanted – by her beauty, by the wistful sadness that seemed to hang about her shoulders, by the hints of joy she experienced when she momentarily laid her troubles aside as she played with the children or laughed at his jokes. With the unfailing sweetness and patience that she exhibited to Eldarion and his sisters and the loyalty she engendered not only in the children, but in their parents as well. Hers was a very special heart and he realized, as he was overwhelmed by a tremendous urge to uncover the reason for her sorrow and do whatever was necessary to lift the burden from her spirit, that he had come to love her.

He wanted nothing more than to go to her and confess his love, take her in his arms and kiss away her tears. Yet he understood that she needed her privacy in the garden in that moment, and that she would most definitely not welcome any declaration of affection or loyalty from him. Not yet, anyway.

He withdrew from the window in order to give her solitude, knowing that the image of her dancing in the moonlight was irrevocably burned onto his heart. He returned to bed, unsure if he would find sleep, but certain that tomorrow, he would seek out Arwen and ask her advice on how to handle the situation. He had lived many long years without the kind of love that so suddenly overcame him – it would take some time for him to sort through his feelings and decide how best to approach his heart's desire.

TBC…


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Fantastic Sights and Dangerous Threats**

_A year later…_

Gimli finished his lunch as he watched the two Elves and the somewhat awkward way they tried not to stare at one another. It was an amusing display because neither was truly successful. His friend the prince was having a harder time of it than the young lady as his eyes darted toward her every few seconds and carefully tracked her every movement. Gimli wondered how much of the distance between the two Elves had to do with the air of sadness that still seemed to haunt her. It had lessened over time; but he noticed that sometimes, when she laughed too brightly or otherwise realized she was happy, the gray cloud hanging over her descended once more, causing her to withdraw into quiet melancholy.

He decided that Legolas was well on his way to realizing he was in love with the lady, but she needed more of a push. He thought of the small cave he had discovered nestled into the crook of the mountain, and decided that it was a lovely, and appropriately secluded, spot for romance to awaken.

"I say, Laddie," he began as he pushed himself back from the table and stood, "did I tell you about the cave I found yesterday?"

Legolas took his eyes off the lady's face and turned politely toward him. "Another cave," he deadpanned. "How fantastic."

Gimli ignored his friend's poor attempt at humor, choosing instead to focus on the warm smile and charming giggle the lady sent their way. "Why it's just outside the city," Gimli continued as though Legolas had expressed genuine interest. "No more than a nice walk from this very hall. It is a lovely spot. There's a waterfall flowing _into_ the mountain. It is lit by sunlight coming in through the top of the cave so that the water glows green like the finest emerald. You should see it."

Legolas gave him a speculative look that said he was trying to figure out what Gimli was up to. Gimli suppressed a smile as he turned toward Legolas's lady and inclined his head. "It would make a beautiful subject for one of your drawings, Lady Isilmei," he said. "Would you allow me to show it to you?"

Daintily she placed her napkin next to her plate and stood. "Certainly," she said with a bit of a forced smile. "I should like that very much." Why Elves always had to _pretend_ interest when discussing something as natural and beautiful as a cave Gimli knew he would never understand.

He allowed his smile to stretch across his face as he turned to Legolas. He lifted one eyebrow at the princeling in challenge. "Are you coming?"

With something of a puzzled grin the prince stood and the two Elves followed Gimli as he led the way toward a side entrance. _'Who says only women can be matchmakers,' _he thought smugly. He had seen the knowing looks Aragorn and his enchanting queen shared as they watched Legolas and his lady together, and that every effort was being made to foster a match between them. He was happy to help things along a little when the opportunity presented itself.

The three enjoyed a pleasant stroll through bright afternoon sunshine as they made their way outside the protective wall enclosing the Citadel and approached the mountain. As they neared the mouth of the cave, the sound of falling water reached their ears.

"I would have thought a water source this close to the city would have been charted, yet I do not recall seeing any note of a cave or waterfall in this location on any of the maps I have seen," she observed.

He favored her with a smile. "The stones at the cave's entrance indicate a recent rock slide. This cave probably hadn't opened up yet when most of the old maps were drawn," he surmised. "And you must remember that before Aragorn became king it had been many years since people felt safe to freely roam outside the city gates. Gondor was too close to the darkness of Mordor."

He walked easily into the cave's opening, but the height of the Elves forced them to stoop to enter. Legolas followed Gimli, extending a hand to Isilmei behind him. He watched with satisfaction as she took the prince's hand, holding on to it as she lifted her skirts so she did not trip as she made her way inside.

Between the entrance to the cave and the far wall where the waterfall flowed, there was a broad swath of deep shadow that the light did not penetrate. The back wall of the cave, however, had just the effect he intended for it to have when he heard her soft intake of breath as she gasped in wonder. He smiled again, thinking that he liked this lass who so quickly appreciated the beauty of stone.

A swift stream poured from the mountain at the top of the cave. A smaller opening somewhere along the floor took the stream back into the mountain, but the water pooled among the rocks before swirling into the dark. The pool was illuminated by a shaft of bright sunlight spilling through a small hole in the cave's ceiling. The light turned the water a deep, clear shade of blue-green and sparkled among the flecks of minerals trapped inside the rocks. Such a place of light and wonder hidden inside the mountain was like a little glimpse of magic to Gimli, and he noted with a deep sense of satisfaction that both of his companions seemed to appreciate it as well as they stood close together behind him. The reality of the cave dispelled the hesitation they seemed to have in hearing of it.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he beamed.

"It's breathtaking," Isilmei said in a tone rich with wonder. "How did you find this place?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I was exploring and followed the sound of water."

"If there is beauty to be found within any mountain," Legolas told her as he gazed down at her with soft eyes, "Gimli will know about it."

She smiled at them both, the light on the pool reflecting off her fair face and hair. She reminded Gimli a bit of her grandmother, the glowing Lady of the Wood, he thought. Only where the Lady Galadriel radiated both power and strength, this younger lady's light was softer and hinted at her gentle charm.

"I should like to draw this," she said. "If I can capture the way the light plays in the water and the rocks, it would make a lovely painting."

"That's a fine idea," Legolas told her.

Gimli was highly amused by the way the prince's eyes followed her lips when she spoke, and decided that perhaps his aim of matching the two of them together would be better accomplished if he quietly withdrew and gave them some time alone. Slowly he inched toward the entrance as the two Elves watched the water and each other with quiet awe.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

She returned to the cave later that same afternoon, and had just begun to sketch the outline of the waterfall when she heard the scrabbling of footsteps on the rocks behind her. Isilmei turned to see two figures stop within the shadows between the light spilling in from the cave's mouth and that which rained down from the cave's roof. She could see the silhouettes of two bodies, but because of the bright light in which she sat, her keen Elven eyes could not make out their faces. All she was sure of was that they were Atani – the footsteps were far too heavy to be of her kind.

"Hello?" she called in the Common Tongue.

"Have you ever seen anything so pretty?" Asked a rough voice heavily tinged with lust.

"No. She looks like a painting."

"She's better than a painting. She must be one of the Elves."

Isilmei felt a prickling of dread spider along the back of her neck and down her arms at the way they discussed her as though she could not hear them.

"I didn't think there were any Elves left in the White City. Except the queen."

"The queen's got one, and there's the one that fought with the king during the war. And then there's this one."

She decided that her patience had run its course. "Good sirs, you are disturbing my work. Please leave."

A beat of silence was the only reply they made at first. She wondered if she had somehow made an error in her Westron, if she had not been as plain with them as she thought.

"She sounds like she's puttin' on airs, doesn't she?" The voice sounded angry.

"I wager she thinks she's better than us because she's an Elf."

"I've always wanted to have me an Elf, haven't you?"

The leering menace in the voice was clear, bringing Isilmei to her feet as she glanced frantically around the cave to determine the best course of escape. The hole at the top of the cave was within reach, but was too small even for her to climb through. She wished she had thought to ask Gimli how far down the water fell within the mountain before making its way to the open air, but without knowing that answer, diving into the pool and trying to swim for it was not an option either. That left the entryway, but to get there she would have to get around the two threatening men.

The brief moment she had taken to evaluate her options was too long, she realized as she was grabbed by the arm. She wrenched her arm away from the man, thinking to hop to the other side of the pool and run for the entryway, but the second man had circled around to cut her off. As the first man advanced and grabbed her again, the second grabbed her from behind. She was trapped between them.

She could make out the features of the man standing in front of her now that he had advanced closer to the light. He was only slightly taller than she, but thickly built. His swollen gut spoke of too much food and too little work, and an unkempt beard added to the slovenliness of his appearance. She was repelled by the look of him. She strained against the arms holding her, to no effect. From the feel of the body behind her, she guessed the second man to be thinner, but much stronger than the one standing in front of her. She would have been able to overpower one of them, but not both as they worked together to restrain her. The man behind her had one arm around her waist and wrapped the other around her throat; pulling her tightly against him with such force that she found it hard to breathe.

"I'll hold her while you have a turn," the man behind her said as spikes of fear stabbed her belly. "Then we switch. This will be something we can brag about for years."

The bearded man in front of her smiled, revealing ragged teeth as he captured her head between his hands and leaned forward. She tasted soured mead and stale pipe smoke when he shoved his tongue inside her mouth.

Struggling for air and to suppress the bile rising in her throat, Isilmei fought back the only way she knew how – she kicked out with both her feet and sunk her teeth deep into the man's tongue, gagging on the taste of him and his invasion of her mouth.

"Ow! Elf-bitch," the man shouted as he jumped back.

She was shoved harder against the second man, who tightened the arm about her neck. "That wasn't nice," he growled into her ear.

The lack of air made her feel lightheaded, her field of vision starting to narrow as the wounded man spat out blood and raised a hand to strike her. She thought she saw a shadow move on the far side of the pool, but could not tell if it was real or a trick of her failing vision. She felt so dizzy.

Suddenly both men were swept away from her. The force of the movement, combined with her lightheadedness, caused her to stagger forward on the uneven rocks. Her momentum pulled her to her knees, but she jumped up as quickly as she could to determine what had happened.

She spun about to see the tall, lean form of Legolas holding her attackers against the wall of the cave. He held them by their throats, so high that their feet dangled inches from the floor.

"She is kin to your queen and a princess in her own right," Legolas seethed in the Common Tongue. "You will _never_ have the right to lay a hand upon her."

"Legolas," she said as a feeling of gratitude for his appearance warred with the dread she felt listening to the lethal edge in his voice. She had never heard him sound this way before – her friend was nowhere to be found in this moment, replaced by the fierce warrior standing in front of her.

"I should kill you." His tone left no doubt that Legolas meant every word, and was more than capable of making good on his threat. His fingers tightened around their throats until his knuckles whitened with the force he applied.

Isilmei noted with alarm that the face of the younger man, the one who had held her from behind, was beginning to turn blue. She did not want to watch the men die, and did not want Legolas to kill them on her behalf. It was wrong. She had to stop him.

She rushed forward, stepping close so that she could see his face. "Legolas, no! Do not harm them," she said in hurried Sindarin. "They did not hurt me."

"You know what happens to one of our kind when…" he began in their language, stopping when a grimace of anger twisted his face. His voice was low and threatening as he continued to glare at the men. "They would have killed you."

"They did not," she insisted as the horror of the situation began to dawn on her fully. "Thanks to you." She placed one hand on his forearm and the other on his shoulder, feeling the iron cords of his muscles beneath his tunic as she fought against the quake beginning deep in the pit of her stomach.

Her touch was enough to cause him to glance at her, his eyes dark and sparkling with danger.

She nearly flinched backward from the deadly intensity and anger in his gaze, but managed to hold her ground. "They should face the King's justice," she said evenly.

Legolas drew in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out and nodding his agreement. His expression clearly communicated his displeasure as he acquiesced to her request. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, giving him a shaky smile. "Because of _you_."

Some of the softness she was used to seeing in his eyes returned as he gazed at her. With a final nod he lowered the men slowly and released his hold on their throats. They both collapsed to the ground and gasped for air. Legolas gave them only a few seconds to catch their breath before shoving each of them with a booted foot to encourage them to their feet. In Sindarin, he told Isilmei, "Stay behind me," before switching to the Common Tongue and speaking with all the authority his royal upbringing had imparted. "We go to the King. On your feet. Now."

TBC…


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: Growing Closeness and Blossoming Trust**

"Why did you attack the lady?" Aragorn demanded, looking every inch the king, and quite fearsome. Legolas noted with satisfaction that he had a seen a similar look on his friend's face when he slew orcs.

"We…we don't know, your Highness," the bearded man said as he bowed in supplication. Legolas fought the urge to kick the man in his overlarge gut.

"That is not a sufficient answer," Aragorn said.

The second man spoke quietly, as he twisted the edges of his rough-spun tunic in his hands. "She was just…so beautiful. We're sorry."

"Sorry you clearly are," Aragorn said disdainfully. After allowing his scorn to hang in the men's ears for a moment, he continued. "The traditional penalty for an attempted offense of this nature is six months confinement to the dungeon."

The men quailed. Legolas fought the urge to wrap his hands around their thick necks and finish what he had started before Isilmei stopped him. He was reminded with a jolt of an earlier conversation, when she had admitted to him that she drew disquieting stares when she moved about the city and so had chosen to confine herself within the increased security of the Citadel. He had fully intended to mention the matter to Aragorn, but allowed her to talk him out of doing so. He was furious with himself now, for if he had followed through on his intention, Aragorn would surely have assigned guards to her and she never would have been attacked in the cave. He realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his failure to follow through made him somewhat responsible for what had happened.

Aragorn shifted his gaze to Isilmei, which reminded Legolas of how unhappy he was about the way she had earlier beseeched the king on behalf of the two scruffy humans. Her generous spirit was one of the many things Legolas loved about her, but he believed she had gone too far in asking Aragorn to alter their sentence so they would not be long confined to the dungeon. In Legolas's mind, a period of long imprisonment would be too good for them.

"However," Aragorn continued, "the gentlelady you treated so ungraciously has spoken on your behalf."

Legolas bit back a retort as the men cast astounded glances at Isilmei.

"She believes you intoxicated and foolish, though not inherently evil."

'_I would add terminally stupid,'_ Legolas thought.

"You are hereby sentenced to two weeks in the dungeon. You will then be assigned to a work crew in Osgiliath for a term of one year. If you appear in public again while you are inebriated, you will be returned to the dungeons for a period of _my_ choosing. If you _ever_ press unwanted advances on a lady again, your stay in our dungeons will outspan your lives. You are dismissed."

Relief lit their faces as they both bowed to Aragorn, then to Isilmei, then again to Aragorn. Legolas thought the whole display ridiculous and would have much preferred to see them confined to the dungeon indefinitely – or worse – so that there would be no chance they would dare lay hands on Isilmei or any other female ever again. He watched as two guards followed them from the hall.

"My friends," Aragorn said quietly in Sindarin as he motioned them close. His worried eyes searched her face. "Are you all right, Isil?" She gave him a tremulous smile as she nodded her head, but clearly Aragorn did not believe her any more than Legolas did. "I have four more cases to hear before I can stop for the day. Will you join us for dinner in a few hours? Tonight it shall be a private meal, with just the family." As they nodded, Aragorn looked to Legolas before shooting a quick glance toward the slight elleth at his side. "Will you stay with her?"

Legolas nodded as he placed a hand at the small of Isilmei's back to guide her from the chamber. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight after what had transpired. If he had not arrived when he had…he suppressed a wave of emotion as he thought about what would have happened without his intervention. He had not yet confessed his intentions to her, but he loved her so. When he thought about the damage the men's violation would have caused to a being he treasured so highly, his rage flared anew and coursed through his veins. It was only his desire to please her that had stayed his hand in the cave. Still, he should have killed them. Men of that predilection could be neither reformed nor trusted.

He was lost in his own thoughts as they traveled slowly down the corridor, his hand having slid around her waist to hold her against his side. Suddenly she stopped him by turning toward him and grasping his arm. "Legolas, thank you for what you did today." She blushed as she raised shy eyes toward him. "It scares me to think what would have become of me if you had not made such a timely entrance."

He studied her face, concerned by the fear and hesitancy he could so plainly see in her eyes. "I thought you might have gone back to the cave," he told her as he took her face in his hands just long enough to brush a quick kiss on her forehead. "I came to see if you found the light suitable for drawing."

She laughed – a brittle, surprised sound as her hand flinched on his sleeve. "I am grateful for your curiosity."

He slid his hands from her cheeks to her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. "I am glad I could be there. And I hope you will not let this afternoon spoil the cave for you." He wanted nothing more in that moment than to take her in his arms and kiss away her fears, but allowed caution to hold sway over his desires. His passion and knowing how unsettled he felt by the sight that greeted him in the cave were not what she needed in this moment. She needed support and reassurance, and he was more than capable of providing both those things.

Trepidation settled across her refined features before a thought flared and caused her to cast speculative eyes toward his face. "Might I impose upon your kindness again?"

"Surely," he said, willing to do anything to restore her smile.

"Take me back there," she pleaded as she gripped his arm. "Now. I do not want to be afraid to go there."

He liked the idea, believing that helping her confront her fear when it was fresh was the best way to help her defeat it. And he very much wanted to be the one to help her do it. He extended an arm to her, which she accepted by placing both of her small, neat hands around the crook of his elbow. He reached across himself to cover her fingers with his own, squeezing her hands reassuringly.

It was a quiet walk back toward the cave. When they reached the entrance, he took her hand to guide her steps and lead the way inside. The waterfall and pool babbled happily in front of them, but the sun had set. It was hours before the moon would rise, so there was no light to cast happy beams about the dark space in which they found themselves. Without the sharp eyes of the Eldar, they would have been unable to see in the darkness.

And yet the absence of sharp contrast between the mountain's darkness and the bright afternoon sun made it easier to see throughout the entire cave. Legolas quickly scanned about to make sure that they were alone and that there were no more unpleasant surprises waiting for them. He began to regret their timing, however, as he realized that in the dark the cave was gloomy and without cheer. Perhaps they should not have come until morning. Beside him, she shivered.

Knowing that it was the ordeal and not the cool evening air that caused her reaction, he gently turned her to face him. She had been able to hide the quake in her body while they stood in Aragorn's chamber, but here and now, the convulsion of her muscles was clear to both his eyes and his hands. His heart went out to her as he was filled with a powerful urge to protect her. "You tremble," he said softly.

"I have not stopped," she admitted, "Not since they grabbed me." She shook her head as though to drive out the memory.

"Come here," he urged as he enfolded her into his embrace. She allowed him to pull her against his body, her hands rising to rest on his chest as her forehead settled into the curve of his throat. She felt cool to the touch and she shook from head to toe. "Shhhhh," he whispered, "it is alright. You are safe now. I will not let anything harm you. _Ever_." He tightened his arms about her as she continued to tremble. He rubbed his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, and up and down her back to soothe her. Still she shook as she clutched at his chest and pressed her face against his neck.

"Listen to my breathing," he whispered. "Can you hear how slow and even it is?"

She nodded against his neck.

"Match your breaths to mine."

The water splashing over the rocks behind them provided a peaceful background for their exercise as he focused on his breathing and rubbed soothing circles along her back and shoulders. The silk of her hair brushed his hands as he caressed her. After several long minutes her breathing lost its panicked shallowness and began to match the slow, steady rhythm he set for them.

"Can you feel my heartbeat?" he asked. She obediently splayed her hands across his chest, nodding when she found the steady rhythm. "Feel how even it is, and allow your own beat to slow as well."

A moment later, she took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing against him and sliding her arms around his waist as he squeezed her to him. Her breath softly brushed his skin just above the collar of his tunic. His chin rested lightly on top of her head and he marveled at the way she fit so neatly within his arms – as though she had been sculpted just for him. And him for her.

The realization caused him to take a deep breath as he fought to keep his breathing and his heartbeat deep and even for her. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings against the side of his neck and in response his hand floated through her thick, soft tresses to cup her head against him. He longed to learn the taste of her lips, but continued to place her needs above his own as he sought to reassure her.

"Repeat after me," he instructed. "I am safe."

She pushed her forehead into his collarbone but did not speak.

"Say it," he urged. "I am safe."

"I am safe," she said softly, her words whispering against his tunic.

He smiled and was encouraged that she was willing to trust him. "Nothing can harm me here."

"Nothing can harm me here," she echoed as she raised one hand and began to trace a small circle on his chest with her index finger.

"Legolas is the bravest, handsomest ellon on Middle Ear…" His breath whooshed out of him as she shoved against him playfully and laughed at his joke.

He smiled down at her as he looked into her face, delighted to see her blue eyes glowing with warmth once more.

She surprised him by rising to her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. "Thank you for being such a good friend to me today," she said with perfect sincerity in her eyes, "and for your marvelous timing." Her smile grew warmer as she lowered her eyes and glanced up at him through her thick dark lashes. "And for being the handsomest, bravest…"

They both laughed as she kissed his cheek once again. Acting entirely on impulse, he hugged her to his chest and pressed a pair of kisses to the top of her head before he allowed her to lean away from him. His heart swelled with joy that he had been able to reassure her and return a smile to her dear face. "Come, sweet Isil," he said as he gazed at her fondly. "Dinner will be ready by the time we return."

He held her hand on the way back toward the King's quarters, content with the feel of her soft skin against his palm and the comfort she seemed to take from the contact. As they neared the entrance to the keep, Isilmei looked at him shyly through her lashes. "Legolas, would you allow me to ask for one more favor?"

"Of course, love." '_Love_' – the word slipped out before he realized it, but when he caught himself and peered at her closely to gauge her reaction, she was deep in thought. He was not entirely sure whether he was pleased or displeased by the fact that she seemed not to have noticed his unintended admission. "What can I do for you?"

She considered her words carefully before she spoke. "In earlier days someone…" His eyes flashed to her face when she hesitated, and he did not miss the pain that haunted her features before she concealed it, "someone very dear to me tried to teach me the fighting arts. And I resisted him at every turn." Her gaze flickered to his face briefly before dancing away again. "I never gave any thought as to why, but those lessons never seemed important to me. I lived in Lorien, and while I knew that there were dangers in the world and that the time of our people was drawing to a close, we were still protected by Grandmother's gifts. Those closest to me sheltered me from knowledge of the darkness growing outside our borders. Even until the time you came with the Fellowship, I knew very little of the peril lurking in the outside world."

When she paused to take a steadying breath he squeezed her fingers in quiet support. It was Arwen who told him that Isilmei had been betrothed to Haldir, the stern and possessive Chief Marchwarden of Lothlorien, and that it was his loss that cast the lingering shadow over Isilmei's spirit. Legolas felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the realization that it was Haldir to whom she now referred and the reminder that there was the ghost of another standing between him and his beloved. Arwen had assured him that with time, Isilmei would heal and be able to love again. He held on to Arwen's reassurance to stave off his disappointment.

"But this is not Lorien," Isilmei continued as she watched the city growing ever closer with each step. "And yet it is my home now, and will be for a while yet, I imagine. When I think about what happened today, and the fact that sometimes I am the only member of the family within the royal apartments with the children, I realize that my days of willful ignorance are over." Her eyes were resolute when she met his gaze. "Should the need ever arise, I must be able to protect us. Will you teach me?"

He felt the desire to embrace her again as she looked at him so hopefully and with such determination upon her pretty features. Her words gave him better insight into her life, and he was nearly consumed by an urge to defend her from any harm or sorrow. "We will begin tomorrow," he told her as he raised her hand and dropped a kiss against her knuckles.

Her grateful smile lit her face and reached all the way to the blue of her eyes. "Thank you."

His mind was already processing weapons and training strategies. With a start he remembered a scene in Lorien – Isilmei standing within the Marchwarden's arms on the training field and landing several shots. "You have some skill with a bow, do you not?"

"But little," she said with a shake of her head. "A bow would not have helped me today. I should like to learn to fight with something easier to conceal than bow and quiver."

It was a sound idea. "A smaller set of blades then. I have just the pair. What time shall I come for you?"

"The older children are with their tutor from mid-morning until early afternoon. I can arrange for Gilrael's nurse to sit with her during that time."

He escorted her to her room so that she could dress for dinner. As he promised to return to collect her shortly, he thought about the day to come. He admired her determination and found that he was most eager to begin working with his new student. The more time he could spend with her, the better; for even though she carried the memory of another, he was the one who was here with her now. And she trusted _him_ to teach her a skill she had not been willing to learn from any other. That had to count for _something_.

TBC…


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Duels and Sword Fights**

_Several weeks later…_

"Your eyes give you away."

Isilmei froze in mid-block at Aragorn's words. _'What does he mean by that?'_ A wave of embarrassment coursed through her at the possibility that her growing fascination with her mentor had been discovered. It had started innocently enough, with gratitude for Legolas's chivalry and steadfast friendship the day she had been accosted. Her budding infatuation had blossomed as she recalled the protective strength of his arms as he held her, the warmth of his skin, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear as he helped her regain her equanimity.

Had Aragorn noticed how her eyes tracked Legolas's long limbs as he taught her each new skill? That the color rising to her cheeks as they moved through the series of moves and counter-moves was caused by the ellon's leonine masculinity? Or was it that Aragorn had noticed that her attention was repeatedly drawn to the play of Legolas's muscles underneath his form-fitting leggings? If Aragorn had noticed the new trend in her thoughts, had Legolas?

She felt a wave of vivid color rise from her collar to the tips of her ears as she desperately tried to figure out what Aragorn's comment meant. Perhaps _if_ she successfully covered her guilt at being caught staring, and _if_ Legolas had not realized she was watching him with more than the day's lesson on her mind, she would avoid damaging their friendship. He was a consummate gentlellon, but had given no indication that he was interested in anything more than the easy, affectionate friendship which had developed between them.

She lowered her blade and cast a worried glance toward Aragorn, who sat on a stone bench beneath the canopied shade of the garden's largest tree. The king of Gondor and Arnor leaned casually against the tree's trunk with one booted foot propped upon the bench while the other sprawled out before him. The smoke from his pipe wafted lazily into the afternoon sunshine as he watched trainer and trainee. Watched, and coached from the sidelines.

Isilmei stood facing Legolas, whose smug grin was matched by that of his friend the king. With a gulp, she realized that if she was to move forward, she must know for sure what her friend meant, and what – if anything – she could do about it. "_How_ are my eyes giving me away?" She demanded warily.

Aragorn removed the end of his pipe from its lodging between his teeth as his smile widened. "You look in the direction you intend to move before you make the movement. A warrior of Legolas's training and skill has no trouble reading your intention and countering your movement before you even make it."

"He is right, Isil," Legolas said as he continued to hold his blade at the ready. One of his dark brows arched in playful challenge. "You must decide on each action and commit to it without letting me know ahead of time. That and your speed will be your advantages in a fight."

Relief flooded through Isilmei that apparently her infatuation had _not_ been uncovered. It had been a trying afternoon, made somehow worse by the fact that Aragorn's impromptu presence meant she had two witnesses for her continuing ineptitude instead of one. She was annoyed with herself and found that she was increasingly unable to stop her frustration from spilling over onto the two who were trying so hard to help her. "I am never going to learn this," she complained.

"_You_ are no quitter," Legolas chided with a quirk of his brow.

His tone brought a wry smile to her face because it was one she often used with the children when they were being difficult. She took a deep breath before straightening her shoulders to let him know that she was feeling appropriately chastised and was ready to continue the lesson. Legolas winked at her when she raised her eyes to his.

They crossed blades and stepped apart. As Legolas extended his blade, Aragorn resumed calling out instructions to Isilmei who tried mightily to both watch what Legolas was doing and listen to what Aragorn was saying.

"Parry left, not right, Isilmei," Aragorn called. "Pull your sword back to waist level on your left side with the tip facing your opponent. As you move the blade, step back and pull in your right foot."

Legolas's blade moved obligingly past her shoulder. "Good," he said as he returned to a neutral position. "_Now_ show me how you parry right."

When next Legolas extended his blade toward her, she pulled the hilt of her sword toward the right side of her body.

"Keep the hilt closer to you when you parry, Isil," Aragorn called. "Remember that all you need is for his blade to miss you. Do not waste extra motion by trying to push it so far away."

She obediently brought her hilt closer to her right hip.

"Better. Now that you have deflected his attack, make your counter move."

She hesitated when she failed to recall which was supposed to be the next move and cast Legolas a questioning look.

"You have two choices," he said. "You can either thrust your blade toward my abdomen while I lean toward you – which leaves me somewhat off center balance – or you can turn your blade to the side and drag it across my wrists from underneath so I will be forced to drop my weapon."

"Which is the better choice?"

"Either tactic will work if properly employed," Aragorn said. "But if you want to keep him from retaliating, go for his abdomen. If you cut his wrists you still leave him whole enough to pose a danger."

Legolas nodded his agreement.

As she attempted to move through Aragorn's instructions, Barador, keeper of the king's schedule, entered the garden and bowed to his sovereign. "Your Majesty, the ambassador from Rohan and his party have just entered the Great Gate. They are on their way to the Citadel."

The king rose to his full height as he put up a hand in farewell. "Duty calls, my friends," he said, switching to Westron for Barador's benefit. "I will see you at dinner."

Isilmei smiled her farewell at Aragorn, but her smile evaporated when the cold steel of Legolas's blade came to rest just below the hollow of her throat. Her eyes snapped back to his face as he flicked his wrist and the flat side of his blade double-tapped the underside of her chin. "You are not supposed to let me do that."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I was not paying attention," she admitted.

His eyes were alight with humor as he lowered his blade and reached out a hand toward her. "No, you were not," he said as he took her hand. He studied her face for a long silent moment before grinning and pulling her farther into the garden. "I think having two tutors is a bit overwhelming for you today. Let us relocate to the inner garden so that we may refocus your concentration."

Isilmei was startled by his perception as they stepped into the ring of trees and shrubbery that separated the outer lawns from the more secluded sections. She wondered what else he was perceptive about as color rose once more to her cheeks.

Legolas had designed this garden so that it was partitioned off into several smaller areas, each intended to serve a variety of purposes. There were two flat, green lawns along the edges of the garden for games and picnics and it was in one of these spaces that they had been practicing. The open spaces bordered two smaller, more intimate areas. He led her into what felt like a secret garden that was lined with blossoms and screened from all but the most determined eyes.

Once through a green screen of trees and blooming shrubbery, Isilmei felt herself relax a bit. The inner sanctums of the garden were her favorite retreats in the city. Both were open to the sky and _could be_ glimpsed from the upper levels of the King's House, but being surrounded by the many blooming plants and trees imparted privacy and reminded her a bit of her Lorien home in the way she felt embraced by the vigorous beauty of growing things.

Legolas's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You would be hard pressed to find a better swordsman than Aragorn. You should let him help you when I am away."

"I know," she nodded. "I am grateful for his time, always. It was just difficult for me to pay attention to two sets of instructions simultaneously."

"You are aware, I trust, that should you ever need to use these skills, there will probably be more than one demand on your attention?"

Isilmei fought the urge to groan aloud at his overly patient tone of voice. He must think her a complete fool. "Of course." She released his hand and walked further into the cozy garden's open heart before she peered over her shoulder at him.

She managed to turn and bring up her blade just in time to block the thrust aimed at her chest. Gasping in surprise, she was forced to take a step backward as Legolas advanced. The warmth and humor from earlier had vanished from his eyes to be replaced with cold, glittering danger. It reminded her of the look on his face when he had held those two scruffy drunks suspended in midair by their necks.

"I challenge Aragorn's claim to the throne," he said with quiet menace. "I have killed him, and now I will make sure that he leaves behind no heir to avenge his death and counter my own claim. You are the only thing standing between me and Eldarion. What are you going to do?"

His voice was so threatening; the look on his face so efficiently deadly, that Isilmei was forced to react without thinking. There was no way that either he or any other upon Arda would harm Eldarion as long as she drew breath into her body. Her blade ran down the length of his with enough speed to surprise him. He held his sword only loosely since he had not expected her quick reaction, so with a flick of her wrist she was able to knock the blade from his hand. It thumped quietly into the grass as she followed through by stepping into him to force him into taking a quick step backward. He stopped when his back met the wall of shrubbery and the edge of her blade came to rest against his neck. Isilmei's eyes flew wide in surprise as she stared at him.

A satisfied smile spread across his handsome features. "The glissade. Very good. We have not practiced that move lately."

"I did it," she breathed, not entirely believing that she had managed a successful counter-attack.

"Of course you did. I knew you could."

For an instant neither of them moved as she continued to hold the blade against his throat. Her cool surprise melted into warmth as she watched the spark of challenge in his eyes bleed into a hungry, heated stare that caused a fluttering sensation deep in her belly. She was unable to look away from him as her pulse jumped within her veins. They were so close to one another that the simple act of breathing was like sharing one set of lungs, one heartbeat.

His eyes never left her face and his voice was husky as he asked, "What would you say if I kissed you right now?"

She gasped, lips parting slightly as her eyes flickered to his mouth before rising back to meet his ravenous stare. '_Ai, yes_,' she most definitely wanted him to kiss her. Emboldened by her infatuation and her unexpected success, she cocked an eyebrow at him as a mischievous smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "Perhaps you should try it and find out."

He struck so quickly that she was not even aware of his movement before his hands were upon her. There was nothing hesitant about the way he grabbed her wrist, bending it backward just enough to make her drop the weapon as his other hand slid into her hair to cup the back of her head and bring her firmly to his mouth.

He claimed her lips with authority. When his tongue darted into her mouth to duel with hers, she realized that she was much more suited to _this_ kind of dueling than she would ever be at swordplay. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, twining their fingers together after her blade thumped quietly into the grass at their feet. Using their joined hands, he guided her arm behind her so that he could employ the strength of both his arms to pull her against his leanly muscled length. Her free hand wandered around his waist and up his back, exploring the taut muscles hidden by his tunic until her fingers became lost in his golden hair. Passion danced along her nerve endings, making each and every inch of her body aware of Legolas and desirous of his attentions.

It was not a gentle first kiss, but it most certainly left her reeling and wishing for more. When he finally broke the kiss he raised his head to look deeply into her eyes. The happiness and deep longing in his gaze heightened her surprise and weakened her knees. He had very nearly stolen her breath away.

"I should….I should go." She felt the need to flee, to retreat to the peace and quiet of her chamber so that she could regain control of herself. And yet she could not resist the urge to stare once more at his lips. Her trembling fingertips rose to follow the line her eyes traced across his supple mouth.

His breath whispered against her skin. "Have I been too bold?"

When she looked back up into his eyes, she saw that he was crestfallen and sought to quickly reassure him. "No," she said with an emphatic shake of the head as she lowered her hand to her side. Before she could suppress the words, she blurted, "I have wondered what it would be like to kiss you."

The worry that had pinched his features a breath before evaporated as quickly as it had arisen. His incredible lips turned upward into a smile that was seductive and delighted and so giddy that it made him look like an elfling. "Isil, I…."

"I should go," she reiterated. There were just too many emotions and feelings swirling within her. She needed to escape this ellon, this friend, who suddenly stirred up forbidden sensations within her. She stepped out of his arms and turned to charge across the garden.

"Isil?" His voice caused her feet to root to the garden's floor with such a start that she lurched a bit in effort to maintain her balance.

A nervous gulp was the only sound she was capable of uttering as she struggled to control her breathing. As she turned around, she saw amusement as well as tender affection in his expression.

He pointed over his shoulder to indicate the direction from which they had come. "The entrance is that way, love."

Mortification spread throughout her body when she realized that the course she had chosen would take her right into a solid wall of climbing roses that had no gate. _'I am_ _such a fool!'_ "Right," she nodded, doing her best to pretend that she had been headed in the proper direction with every step. "Yes. Of course. Right."

TBC…


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: An Epidemic and an Epiphany**

_Almost a year later…_

Isilmei was in the nursery with the children helping them pick up their toys and sort them into the appropriate bins and baskets before dinner – this one for dress-up clothes, this one for practice swords, that one for dolls and another for toy soldiers – when Prince Legolas stepped into the room.

As the children ran to meet him, Isilmei kept her seat on the floor, busy separating the pieces for three different puzzle maps into their respective boxes. She favored the prince with a shy smile as she felt a blush rise to her cheeks when his eyes met hers. It was the first time she had seen him in nearly a year, since shortly after the practice session that ended in a most invigorating kiss. Their steady stream of correspondence kept him near to her heart, but had not prepared her for the way her pulse raced and her stomach flipped at the sight of him.

He, by contrast, was not at all shy as he smiled at her warmly over the top of Eliel's head, a look of suggestiveness about his bright eyes and mischievous mouth that told her he was also remembering his last visit to the palace and the kiss they shared. She felt the blush rise to her ears when he arched one eyebrow in a way that made her think he would very much like to duplicate the experience.

Nervously clearing her throat and dropping her eyes from his heated gaze, she put her mind back upon the puzzle pieces in front of her and enjoyed the sounds of the children gushing so enthusiastically over their adored uncle. As usual, Legolas had brought presents for them. As she watched him present each child with his or her gift, she was impressed anew by his thoughtfulness. For Eldarion he had brought a finely crafted lens which would allow the prince to gaze at far flung stars. For Eliel, an exquisitely made doll with black hair and blue eyes, dressed in a cloth-of-gold gown and a tiny crown. For Gilrael, the warrior princess, a tiny shield displaying masterful craftsmanship and the crest of her house. And for little Estelwen, who was just beginning to toddle about the nursery, an expandable pushcart which would support her efforts to stand and walk on her own.

Isilmei was deeply touched by the consideration he had put into each of the gifts for they showed the love and care he had for each of the children and his close attention to their needs and interests. He really was a most thoughtful ellon. She gave him a fond smile as the children scattered to play with their new treasures and he approached her spot on the floor. "Once again you secure their love for you."

"Being an uncle is both a blessing and a joy," he observed. "I have only to bring fun gifts and support their efforts to make merry. The discipline and order of parenthood I leave in the hands of those more capable." As she finished sorting and closed up each of the boxes, he extended a hand to help her up.

She clasped his fingers, her intended retort dying upon her lips as her chest began to heave wildly. Her free hand rose to her throat as she sucked in a great breath, the force of the inhalation making speech impossible. Everything in the room spun about her except for his flashing eyes, their depth and intensity focused entirely upon her face as she fought to contain the rush of fresh air within her.

Jerking her hand out of his, her eyes remained locked onto his face as a dizzying wave of confusion and lightheadedness washed over her. Her jaw dropped open as he kneeled beside her.

"Are you all right?"

She stared at him dumbly, pulling her eyes away only long enough to glance at her hand and back again.

"Isil! Answer me." Legolas put a hand on the side of her head, which caused a buzzing along her nerve endings.

A theory began to form in Isilmei's mind as Legolas continued to stare at her and the children turned to regard them with concern. "Auntie?" Eldarion asked as he made his way cautiously to her side. Gilrael was right behind him, her dark curls bouncing about her shoulders as she trotted across the room with her new shield slung over her arm and her practice sword clasped tightly in her little hand.

"Do that again," Isilmei whispered as she dropped her gaze to his hands.

"What? What is it?" Apprehension dominated his expression.

"Take my hands." She lifted both hands palms up and reached across the short distance between them.

With his questions hanging in his eyes and creasing his forehead, he reached out and took her hands.

The spinning sensation took her again as her chest resumed its heaving and air flooded into her lungs. Her skin tingled where it contacted his and a terrible realization began to dawn upon her. "Ai," she gasped, "we _are_ different."

Legolas shifted and released one of her hands so that he could wrap an arm about her shoulders. He looked at her as though she were losing her mind. "What are you talking about?"

"I…may I speak with you? Alone?" Isilmei was not sure what words to use to describe the certainty and the horror that was growing within her, but she knew that she desperately needed to talk to someone and that the children could not be within earshot when she did. "Nurse!"

The nursery door opened and a familiar ginger-colored head peeked into the room. "Yes, Mi'lady?"

As there were at least two nursery attendants close by at all times, with whom Isilmei was on varying degrees of familiarity, she was relieved that the concerned face was one she knew well and trusted. "Ah, Gilly, I'm glad you are here this afternoon. Will you please take the children for a few moments? The queen should return shortly. I need to speak with the prince in private."

"Of course." Gilly's bowtie mouth turned downward in a frown as she took in Isilmei's wide-eyed distress. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes it's fine." Isilmei did her best to smile reassuringly at her friend as Legolas pulled her to her feet.

Without a backward glance Isilmei made for the door. Legolas kept a firm hold of her hand as they exited the room. She fled on hastening feet, pulling him through the corridor, down the back stairs, across the promenade and into the garden. She refused to stop until they had entered the privacy of one of the small tree-shrouded glades at the garden's heart – the one dominated by a babbling fountain which would provide extra privacy for their conversation. Her pace slowed only when they were surrounded by trees and the fountain splashed happily in front of them.

Legolas took her by the shoulders and she could see the concern clouding his expression. "Sweet Isil, what is it?" He switched fluidly from the Westron they spoke in the nursery to their native Sindarin and spoke in low, soothing tones that brought Isilmei a small measure of comfort. "What has upset you so?"

She truly did not know where or how to begin. "I am not upset I…I…" she stammered to a stop, overwhelmed and saddened by the thoughts swirling round and round in her mind. Her heart hammered within the walls of her chest.

"You said that we are different," Legolas encouraged. "What do you mean? Who is 'we?' Different how?"

"You and I. We are Firstborn."

His brow wrinkled. "Yes?"

"Legolas, you do not understand," she said. His hands were still atop her shoulders and she covered his fingers with her own, craving contact with his skin. "Arwen has accepted the doom of the Secondborn. She is no longer truly of our kind. I am the only one of our people in the White City."

He nodded as he continued to regard her as though she had gone mad. "I know all of this. What has any of it to do with what happened to you back there?"

She heaved out a sigh, looking for the proper way to explain. Her mind was whirling with implications and emotions that were nearly too tangled to sort out. "An epidemic has plagued the city for the past eight months. I have spent most of my time in the Houses of Healing." She pulled away from him reluctantly, hating to leave his touch but needing the clarity that distance and the freedom to pace about brought her. "The illness affects their respiratory systems. It causes high fever and congestion, among other symptoms. Most victims recover after a few weeks, but there have been deaths." She turned back to face him across the distance she had created between them. "And I have discovered that I know which ones will not make it long before any of the other healers. I can _feel_ death upon them when I touch them, before either the patients or their families realize their fate."

He looked at her in shock. "You can _predict_ who among them will live, and who will die?"

"Yes. As soon as I touch them, I know." She resumed her pacing as she sought an appropriate analogy. "Think of a ripe apple hanging upon the tree. If it hangs too long, or if it becomes infected, it rots over a period of hours or days. Sometimes it will look perfectly healthy on the outside, but once opened, the decay becomes obvious. Other times the decay begins as a brown spot on the peel that slowly spreads inward. Does that make sense?"

He nodded.

"Mortals are similar. Like the tiny brown speck on the apple peel that grows into blight, the taint of death is upon mortals from the time they are born. For years it is invisible, to the point that you would never notice their inevitable fate upon them, but eventually, something happens – disease or injury or the slow march of time – and they begin to decay." Her feet froze and one hand rose to her throat as the constriction, the feeling of slow suffocation that had enrobed her for months settled upon her chest once more. "After a certain point, the march of decomposition is inexorable, and painfully obvious. At least to me. Sometimes it happens with those that still appear young to the eye, but I know better when I touch them because the illness hastens their decline."

His expression softened to something akin to pity as he crossed the space between them and gathered her small, cold hands in his warm grip. She looked at him with frantic eyes and grasped both his hands tightly in her own. As she touched his skin, the lifting sensation she had felt in the nursery rushed into her once more. She inhaled deeply in effort to pull as much life-giving air into her lungs as possible before letting it go. "It has been a year since you have been with us," she reminded him. "No other Eldar have visited during that time. And for months now, the epidemic has raged and casualties have mounted. And yet in my obtuseness I did not realize until today just how very different we are from the Atani. I have felt a weight on my chest that I cannot see, something that makes it hard for me to breathe and brings me dreams of drowning and suffocation. I had no idea until today that the oppressive force I feel is their mortal doom. I am surrounded by it."

"I apologize, love; but I do not truly follow."

"Their mortality is as a pestilence upon them that no medicine can heal. I did not realize it as such until I took your hand in the nursery. It has been long enough since I have been among our kind that I had not realized what I was feeling until we touched." She gripped his fingers tighter within her own. "But suddenly I know what it is I have been feeling upon them. It is like living among the dead." She cast her eyes downward to their entwined fingers and saw her tears fall on his strong hands.

"I cannot stay here. Not forever. I am not strong enough to do as my cousin Lord Elrond has done." She raised watery eyes to him in the hope that he would understand the horror she felt. "I do not feel the taint of mortality on Aragorn or Arwen yet, but I know it is only a matter of time. And the children…" Her voice broke and trailed off as tears slipped down her cheeks. Legolas pulled her into his arms and she hugged him about the waist. She was grateful for the comfort he offered and the strength of his arms surrounding her.

"I saw them born, and I have watched them grow. And I love them with all my heart," she confessed against his chest. "They are so very vibrant. To feel…_death_ upon _them_….I simply could not bear it. I know that makes me a terrible coward, but…"

"Shh…you are no coward," he soothed. "You are Elfkind. You belong among your own people."

"It was your touch that made it all plain to me," she said as her eyes found his once more. "When my skin touches yours I can feel your vitality, free of taint. You are so very _alive_. It is as though a heavy stone was lifted off my chest and I can breathe freely for the first time in more days than I can count."

Even through her tears she could see the meltingly soft, warm light in his eyes as he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "It is alright, love," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her forehead before enfolding her within the comforting circle of his arms once more. "Breathe deep. I will not let you go."

"What should I do, Legolas?" She implored as she clung to him. "Where should I go? I cannot bear to watch them all fade before my eyes and not be able to _do_ anything to prevent it. I cannot bear that much loss."

He stepped back enough to take both her hands in his. She clung to him as she sought to control her breathing. "I have an idea," he began quietly.

She closed her eyes to still the dizzying sensations spinning her mind and took several more deep breaths before meeting his eyes. His expression was keen and the slightest of smiles played at his mouth.

"There are two reasons for my visit today," he said as his smile broadened. He led her by their joined hands to sit on the edge of the fountain before continuing. "I came to update the king on the colony's progress, and to see you."

"Me?"

He nodded. "I came to recruit you. When Lord Elrond sailed, you became the last of our kind on Middle Earth who has made a detailed study of Secondborn medicine. In Ithilien we will be working closely with Prince Faramir and his people. Someone of your skill, who knows how to heal both our kinds, would be invaluable to the colony. Your knowledge of forestry would also be beneficial. Ithilien needs you. I want you to come with us and be my Chief Healer."

The garden began to spin about her again, though for an entirely different reason. She was overwhelmed by his offer, and by the faith he seemed to place in her. "Legolas! I am flattered. I…I do not know what to say."

He squeezed her hands as though to reassure her. "I have been thinking about this for some time, Isilmei. I _need_ you to join me in this adventure. The reason I have been away so long is that I have been working with the construction crews. I cannot wait to show you all that we have accomplished. Your support, and your presence in the colony, would mean more than you know."

"You have my support," she said with a shake of her head, "you know that, but…"

"But I do not have _you_. I need you to help me recruit other healers to the effort, and to join us in the colony. On whatever terms you care to make."

She thought about it for a moment, a grin spreading across her face as she thought of the possibilities and the joy of once again living amongst the Eldar. Perhaps she would even be so fortunate as to meet one or two of the Galadhrim among whom she was raised. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became by the idea, even though simultaneously she felt the beginnings of the grief she would experience at leaving Arwen, Aragorn, and the children behind. When she met his eyes, she was overcome by the certainty and happiness she saw there, by the excitement and possibility he believed the new colony held for their people. "I will join you," she finally said. "Though it will pain me to leave my family behind, it will be an honor to support your cause."

His smile was huge and lit his countenance with such rugged charm that she could not help hugging him. She continued to crave contact with his skin in any way she could get it. He wrapped her in his strong arms and stood, lifting her off the ground and spinning her about while she pressed the side of her face tightly against his, burying her nose in his golden hair and breathing in the woodsy scent of him. He smelled of pine needles, skin, and saddle leather in a way that was simultaneously exciting and soothing.

As their hug lengthened Legolas set her back on her feet and turned his face so that his nose hovered just above hers. Slowly, so slowly, he ran the tip of his nose up the bridge of her own and back down again, his mouth hesitating so close to hers that she could feel his breath upon her lips. Through their layers of clothing she felt his heart rate quicken in time with hers.

"I wonder…" he whispered against her ear.

"What?" She rasped, both delighted and a little nervous to know exactly what was on his mind. Suddenly more than her breathing seemed fevered.

"If the touch of my hands is restorative to you…" his husky whisper drifted off, leaving her disappointed that he had not finished his thought. His lips pressed a warm soft kiss to the pointed tip of her ear, causing a shiver of delight to race up her spine and down her limbs.

"You were saying?" She turned her face inward so that her nose nuzzled his jaw line.

"If my hands are helpful, then what about…" He let his words trail off as he cradled her face and pressed his lips to hers.

Their first kiss had been fired from the excitement of their fight training. This kiss, however, was deeper, sweeter, and yet even more passionate. And tremendously, completely comforting. Isilmei breathed out a sigh of bliss and parted her lips, dazzled when his tongue slid between them to caress her mouth. She moaned softly and felt his response in the way his fingers tightened their grip on her face and hair.

She leaned into his kiss, winding her arms about his neck. She was so focused on the contact of their mouths that she barely noticed when he reached down to sweep her into his arms. He resumed his seat by the fountain and settled her in his lap. He was so deliciously warm and she could feel his heartbeat hammer against her breast as he wrapped his arms around her body and held her close.

When he finally broke the kiss and pressed her to his chest as his fingers slid gently through her hair, she brushed a line of kisses across his finely chiseled cheekbone to the point of his ear. He groaned low in his throat as he squeezed her tighter. She felt so safe, so treasured that she sought to etch the moment in her memory, even as a small shred of doubt niggled at a corner of her mind.

Hating the uncertainty that marred such a perfect moment, she found herself unable to push the thought away until she asked the question. "Does your invitation have anything to do with the kissing?" She sought to keep her tone light, though her inquiry was driven by genuine concern.

He laughed softly as he tapped the end of her nose. "No, you goose," he said as he lifted a lock of her hair and breathed in its scent. "The colony needs your skills. Whether or not we continue the kissing is an entirely separate matter. Though personally," he said as he kissed her neck, drawing a giddy giggle from her as he tickled her sensitive skin with his tongue, "I sincerely hope that we do."

She buried her head in his shoulder, unsure what to do with the whirl of emotions he was becoming so very skilled at stirring within her. Choosing to focus for the moment on the extreme pleasure she felt at being held in his arms, at the way his touches made her feel she could breathe freely again, she asked, "Would you help me talk to Arwen and Aragorn?"

"Of course, love," he said as he tightened his arms about her. "I hope you will agree to come with me sooner, rather than later?"

"How soon?"

"I plan to leave Minas Tirith within a fortnight. Construction is well underway. No more than a year from now the main buildings and many of the homes will be habitable." She pulled back to look at him, surprised to hear that his lovely designs would so soon be realized. "It is time for me to visit the Elven realms and recruit colonists. I had hoped that the princess of Lothlorien would accompany me and support me publically." His smile was gentle, his eyes hopeful.

She was amazed by all that he had accomplished in such a relatively short period of time, and humbled by the fact that he wanted her to be a part of it. At the same time, it saddened her to leave the family without more time to prepare herself for the pain of separation. "So soon…I…"

"My father and Lord Celeborn are both in Imladris at the moment, and so protocol dictates that the Last Homely House will be the first stop on my journey even though it is rather out of the way," he said as though he had anticipated her worries. "You would have a chance to spend some time with your grandfather."

The thought of seeing the one whom she most loved and respected was too strong a pull to ignore. Her grandfather's noble face swam before her eyes and she could almost feel his sturdy embrace. "Can we leave tomorrow?"

Legolas laughed as he squeezed her waist. "How soon can you be packed and ready? Have you kept up with your sword training? One never knows when such skills might come in handy on the road."

She ducked her head, knowing that he would be less than pleased with her answer. "Aragorn took over where you left off, but he does not have much time given all his responsibilities. I did not wish to practice with any other."

"We will make time for it before we leave." His smile was indulgent when he hooked a finger under her chin to raise her eyes to his. "And perhaps we will have some time during our travels as well."

He was just about to kiss her again when the sound of footsteps along the stone passageways just outside their green retreat called them back to reality. It was time for the evening meal and the members of the king's household were beginning to make their way to the banquet hall.

"I still have remnants of Estelwen's lunch upon my skirt," she gasped. "I need to change!"

"As do I," he laughed as he helped her stand and used their joined hands to lever himself to his feet. "Allow me to escort you this evening?"

"Of course," she said with a gentle smile. She regarded him with new eyes as he folded her hand into the bend of his elbow. He had been friendly towards her from their first meeting, and for some time now she had looked forward to his visits every bit as much as the children did, but she realized that the feelings now warming her from the inside out were taking a new turn. He was more than a friend, and their kisses were more than casual flirtation on his part as she had first thought. What was happening between them was more than simple infatuation, though she could not say how much more. This most recent encounter made that perfectly clear to her. He was good, and he was kind. And funny. And thoughtful. And devastatingly handsome. And accomplished and charming. She squeezed his arm, proud to walk beside him and support his vision for the new colony.

As they swiftly exited the garden and began to make their way back toward the royal apartments, he suddenly said, "Ai! I meant to tell you. One of the Galadhrim has joined my guard. He has traveled with me since my last trip to Imladris. I believe you know him."

"Who is it?" She asked eagerly.

"Orophin."

"How wonderful!" Her smile was huge. "He is like a brother me."

Legolas gazed at her with warm affection. "He describes you as the sister of his heart. He will be most happy to see you at dinner this evening. And delighted that you will be moving to Ithilien."

"Ai, Legolas," she said as she impulsively threw her free arm about his waist and hugged him to her side. "You have made me so happy today, in more ways than one. Thank you."

He paused long enough to drop a kiss against her temple, smiling happily as he interlaced his fingers with hers and escorted her to her room.

TBC…


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Enemies and Reunions**

_Two months later…_

For the remainder of Legolas's most recent sojourn in the White City, Isilmei had been welcoming of his attentions, eagerly holding hands with him under the linens at meal time and as they walked from place to place. They created opportunities to spend time together, often meeting in the garden late at night and talking until first light. He had spent more time in her company and had learned more about her in that brief, happy period than ever before. And there had been several lovely, long kisses, the memories of which he cherished. She was opening her heart to him, he could feel it, and the more he learned of her, the more he wanted to know. He was more convinced than he had ever been that the two of them were meant for one another.

Their journey toward Imladris, however, had seen a return of a more formal distance between the two of them, for it was hard to have even a moment alone with her in the company of six warriors who traveled with him as guards. He had thought it a needlessly overcautious idea when his father proposed that he begin traveling with an escort, but he was glad for their presence now, for it would not have been possible for Isilmei to join him on the road if he still traveled alone. His guards also provided him with increased peace of mind regarding her safety, even if their constant vigilance – most notably of the one who considered Isilmei his little sister and carefully watched her every move – meant that Legolas had precious little time alone with her.

And so, as it turned out, the best thing about the trip between Minas Tirith and the Last Homely House was a small ovular stone. When Isilmei's mare began to limp, careful examination had revealed the gray pebble wedged tightly next to the frog of Nim's left front hoof. It had taken Isilmei some effort to dislodge it and the mare had yet to recover.

Worried that her slight weight might further exacerbate the stone bruise, Isilmei had accepted his invitation to join him aboard Arod's broad back. The steed given to him by Eomer-King was larger and stouter than mounts typically favored by the Eldar, but Legolas had consistently found the great gray beast to be sound and fleet of foot, as well as strong as an ox. If Arod could cover as many miles as he had during the war with both Legolas and Gimli on board, he had assured Isilmei, the stallion would have no trouble bearing the two Elves the rest of the way to Imladris. Legolas was secretly delighted by the opportunity to procure more time with his heart's desire, even though she was as yet unaware of just how much she meant to him.

During the first day of their shared ride, she had ridden behind him. He had become so aroused by the way her hands slipped about his body that he had been required to adjust his tunic when they dismounted. Legolas knew that her touches were innocent in intent as she sought to balance herself upon Arod's back, but his body had a mind of its own as it responded to the way she lightly grasped him about the waist, chest, and shoulders as they traveled.

The illusion of intimacy was further heightened by the fact that her proximity had allowed their conversation to stray to any number of topics as they rode. From time to time he could feel her words whisper past his cheek or neck as she spoke, which never failed to send a wave of desire coursing through him.

The following day Legolas had insisted that they switch places, assisting Isilmei onto Arod's back before springing up behind her. While her touches had been innocently erotic, there was nothing unintentional about the way Legolas _accidentally_ stroked the sides of her hips and waist as he pretended to readjust his balance. A little turn about was only fair play, after all. When his whispered response to her question brushed against the tip of her ear, she gasped and her hips shifted involuntarily. He had been glad that his guards were for once engaged in their own conversations as he watched her cheeks flush a most becoming shade of pink. He restrained his urges after that, for he had no desire to embarrass her or overstep the invisible boundaries still separating the two of them. Her response to him had, however, reassured him that the attraction he felt – the magnetic pull to be in her presence and touch her however possible – was mutual.

This was the third day of their shared ride, which found them less than a league from Imladris's borders. Dusk was falling as they approached the bed of the River Bruinen. His bewitching companion was eager to reach their destination and be reunited with her grandfather, Legolas knew. He also realized that Nim would be restored to full health by the time they left Imladris for Eryn Lasgalen, and that he would miss Isilmei's soft curves and long legs pressed against him during the second part of their journey.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of quickly approaching hoofbeats. Orophin's tall chestnut steed galloped over the crest of the hill before them, urgency clear both in Orophin's expression and the fevered pace of his mount. He had ridden ahead to scout the river crossing, and had obviously found some sort of trouble. Legolas tapped Arod lightly with his heel to hasten toward the other ellon.

"Orcs!" Orophin called out. "At least a dozen – there may be more. They have caught our scent and are headed this way."

The rest of the guards readied their weapons and quickly spurred their mounts ahead of him as Legolas drew one of his knives from his quiver. He was less able to fight with Isilmei riding behind him, and she was so terribly soft and vulnerable, for orcs would be so cruelly joyous to capture one such as her. He could not stomach the thought of their filthy black hands upon her flawless skin.

As the remainder of their party thundered over the hill, Orophin sharply reined his mount to a halt. Legolas signaled Arod to stop as well, easily sensing Isilmei's fear as her slim arms suddenly gripped his waist tightly. Nim, who followed Arod faithfully, came to a dainty halt just behind them.

Legolas was conflicted, the warrior in him who wanted to plunge into the thick of battle at odds with the urge to protect Isilmei and see to her safety. When he glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed her terrified expression, the warrior won out. He wanted to personally slay the creatures responsible for frightening her. "Take Isilmei and…"

"No, my Lord," Orophin interrupted with a shake of his head. "You said it yourself; Arod is more accustomed to carrying additional weight without losing speed. Take her, keep her safe," he said as his gaze flickered toward Isilmei. "We will give you cover as you make your way to the borders and then catch up to you."

Legolas scowled, hating to leave his people behind in the face of danger but begrudgingly having to admit that Orophin was right. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "Watch your back, my friend."

Orophin nodded and wheeled his mount around before charging back over the hill.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder. "Hold on tight," he instructed. To Arod and Nim he said, "Run as though the hounds of Mordor were at your heels. Go!" With a mighty surge of power beneath them, Arod sprang into motion and darted into the tree line.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

Isilmei clung to Legolas's waist, terrified of the creatures that were chasing them and consumed with guilt that her presence required Legolas to leave his guards behind in effort to protect her. She had never felt like more of a burden than she did in that moment.

She buried her face in his cloak, her chin curved around the quiver strapped to his back so that he would be able to pull arrows without obstruction should the need arise. Never having seen an orc, she felt compelled to squeeze her eyes closed to block their sight – as well as morbidly curious to know if all the stories she had heard about them were true. When she risked a peek to the side, all she could see was a blur of tree branches as they raced through the woods. She tried to make herself as small and still as possible to lessen her hindrance of either Legolas or Arod.

Nim had disappeared up the trail in front of them in spite of the slight limp she still suffered. Behind them and off to one side, she heard a shrill, piercing scream which curdled the blood within her veins. Her spine stiffened uncontrollably as she hid her face in Legolas's garb and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The next sounds she heard were those of clear Elven voices raised in a battle cry.

They broke through the tree line with a leap and plunged into the Bruinen. Isilmei risked a peek when she felt icy water soak her skirt and feet as Arod struggled to maintain his pace in the swiftly moving waters. She raised herself to peer over Legolas's shoulder when the sounds of hoofbeats rose above the river's rush.

Six mounted warriors robed in dusky-blue velvet cloaks thundered into the Bruinen with swords drawn. Legolas exchanged a quick nod with the ellon leading the war party as they passed. Arod's pace quickened again as he exited the river and charged up the trail left empty by the warriors.

Atop the long gentle rise ahead of them was a solid stone wall. Tall wooden gates reinforced by metal framing stood wide open and Legolas gave Arod his head as they pounded up the hill.

When they galloped through the gates, warriors garbed identically to those they had just passed pulled the gates closed behind them. At the edge of the torch-brightened courtyard Nim pranced and tossed her head, snorting at the elleth who stepped forward with a lead rope in hand.

As Legolas reined Arod back and breathed out a sigh of relief, Isilmei's eyes fell on a most welcome sight. A tall and familiar form ran nimbly down a flight of stairs into the courtyard.

"Grandfather!" She cried.

Lord Celeborn easily caught her as she slid off Arod's back into his waiting arms. "My elfling," he said as he hugged her tightly to his chest.

She was unable to stifle the tears that sprang to her eyes as she threw her arms around him and returned his embrace. She hugged him with all her might, burying her face in his robes and breathing deeply as she savored the comforting, wonderful sensations that rose within her as she was wrapped in his arms and his scent. He smelled of home – of crisp open air, mallorn leaves, and sunshine. A note of wood smoke overlay the more familiar scents, adding to their complexity. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to hide herself in his arms and stay there where she knew she would always be safe.

He kissed the top of her head before holding her away from him so that he could study her face. "Are you all right, little one?" Concern flashed in his eyes when we saw her tears. "Are you injured?"

"No, Grandfather. We are fine. But his guards are out there. Orophin said there were at least a dozen orcs…"

"It is all right, Pearl," her grandfather soothed. "The alarm was sounded when your mare ran through the gates. We sent riders."

She nodded. "We saw them." She was unable to hide the quake in her voice.

"Do not fret," he said as he pulled her back into his arms. She was only too happy to hug him tightly once more. "The orcs will soon be dispatched," he promised. He rubbed her back to pacify her as he spoke the reassuring words.

She heard footsteps approach as her grandfather raised his head and spoke to another. "How dare you endanger her?" He demanded.

Her head shot up from his chest at the sharp tone of his voice. Legolas said nothing, but his lips were pressed to a thin straight line and a muscle along his jaw twitched at the accusation. As she pulled in a breath to defend Legolas, an imperious voice behind her beat her to it.

"He did not jeopardize her, Celeborn. He _protected_ her."

She turned to see a very tall and imposing ellon standing at the edge of the steps. His bearing was dignified, his mien severe. An exquisitely carved crown of silver twigs and copper leaves adorned his pale head, and his long robes were embroidered with the same pattern that Legolas wore on formal occasions. Even without the clues provided by the crown and robes, Isilmei would have known the identity of this ellon without introduction. The sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and thick dark brows had been passed straight down to his son. This was King Thranduil. Elladan and Elrohir were hurrying down the stairs and came to a stop just behind him.

"She could have been hurt," Grandfather insisted as he continued to scowl at both Legolas and his father.

"Look at her," King Thranduil frowned. "There is not a mark on her. _My son_ kept your ward safe." He matched Grandfather tone for tone, ire flashing in his fathomless eyes. The tension between the two rulers was palpable as their sharp words echoed off the walls of the stone courtyard.

"We traveled with six experienced warriors, Lord Celeborn," Legolas said evenly. "She had seven guards on this journey. I can assure you that her safety is of the utmost importance to me."

Grandfather's arms tightened about her, his expression unconvinced.

She tugged on his robe as she had when she was an elfling wanting his attention, seeking to diffuse the enmity surrounding them. "Be nice, Grandfather," she said quietly. She raised her voice to be heard by the others when she continued. "Legolas took good care of me. He kept me safe." She turned to meet Legolas's eyes and smiled brightly at him to reinforce her point. "Thank you," she told her friend with all sincerity.

"See?" Legolas's father demanded.

Her grandfather squeezed her once more before releasing her. He took a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it go as the strain finally left his face and posture. He pointedly ignored the tall king as he nodded to Legolas in silent thanks. The twins chose that moment to step around King Thranduil and approach.

"Cousin," Elrohir said as he gripped both of her hands before pulling her against him for a quick hug.

"It is good to see you both," she said as she kissed Elladan's cheek. "It has been too long since your last visit to Minas Tirith."

"Come," Elladan said. "My Lord," he addressed Legolas, "a groom will see to your horses' needs. We have refreshments waiting. Let us await the return of our warriors indoors."

Legolas dismounted and handed Arod's reins off to the same elleth who had haltered Nim. "Thank you, my lords," he said to the twins as he moved toward his father and nodded in greeting.

Her grandfather encircled Isilmei's shoulders with one arm. She wrapped an arm around his waist in return and relished the chance to be near him once more as she leaned into his protective embrace.

TBC…


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Rocky Receptions and Old Business**

Refreshments had been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. The weather was gray and dreary, which only served to heighten the pleasure Legolas gathered from the cheery candlelight and warm appointments of the reception room into which they were escorted. Isilmei was still firmly ensconced within her grandfather's embrace, and Legolas knew it was unlikely she would leave Lord Celeborn's side any time soon as he watched her gaze up at her grandfather in utter adoration.

Legolas helped himself to a bite of cheese and a slice of fruit, as well as a small silver chalice of miruvor as he exchanged greetings with the brothers. The cordial's warming effects settled his nerves and calmed his mind, leaving a pleasant glowing feeling in his throat. He decided that this reception was a most enjoyable way to end long weeks on the road.

"Did you have any other trouble along the way?" Elladan asked.

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Much progress has been made. It was a pleasant journey until today."

Elrohir nodded. "There are still pockets of orcs and uruks in the mountains. Their lack of organization works against them. I am delighted to say that we have systematically destroyed many of those who survived the War of the Ring." He popped a bright berry in his mouth before finishing his thought. "It is only a matter of time before we finish them off permanently."

"That will be a good day," Legolas said with a grin.

Elladan's smile was mischievous. "Indeed it will, my friend." He glanced at his brother before meeting Legolas's gaze once more. "In fact, we are so pleased with our progress and so certain we will be bored when there are no more of Sauron's minions left to hunt that we have discussed taking ship once the last of the fell creatures have been exterminated."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Then you will not be joining us in Ithilien?" He was teasing, knowing that the while the brothers supported his plans, they had no desire to leave their beloved Imladris behind until they sailed into the West.

"My brother gets ahead of himself, Legolas. We will not leave Arwen or her children, not until they no longer need us," Elrohir asserted.

Sadness flickered darkly across Elladan's expression until his gray eyes fell upon his cousin where she stood beside their grandfather. "It is good to see Isilmei again. She looks well."

"She has blossomed within Arwen's family," Elrohir observed.

Legolas smiled, nodding his head in agreement as he watched his father stride purposefully toward Lord Celeborn. He wondered if the prickly relationship between the two rulers would turn into another argument.

Elrohir winked at him. "Believe it or not, they have largely made their peace, though neither will ever write love sonnets in honor of the other."

Legolas could not help the snort of laughter that broke from him. "I do not believe Adar capable of sonnets of any sort, truth be told."

"I doubt they will ever be bosom buddies, but Ro and I decided to settle for civility. A few weeks ago we threatened to banish them to the forest until they had settled matters once and for all," Elladan confided in a conspiratorial whisper.

Legolas snickered at their audacity as the regarded them both. "And how did _that_ go over?"

"I believe they are getting along better now because they both resent our interference in their ages-old dispute," Elrohir grinned. "Our grandfather called us impertinent. King Thranduil called us foolish. And cheeky."

"Cheeky," Elladan laughed. "Who says that?"

Clearly the sons of Lord Elrond had no qualms going toe-to-toe with their elders when they believed the situation warranted. It was a trait Legolas shared with them, and he respected them all the more for it. "Their animosity has existed so long that the true root of it seems to have faded to legend, even among the Eldar." Legolas said as he shook his head at the stubbornness of elders.

"Among those remaining in the bent world, perhaps," Elladan agreed with a nod. "Though I suspect there are those in Aman who well remember. And certainly the two of them have long memories."

"Legolas, please do not give the harsh words Grandfather said to you in the courtyard another thought. He has ever been touchy when it comes to Isilmei," Elrohir said with a sly grin. "About both of his granddaughters, actually."

"Yes," Elladan agreed. "Isilmei just tolerates his overprotectiveness better than Arwen ever did. Our sister gave our grandparents a number of sleepless nights in days gone by."

"To say noting of the worry she caused Naneth and Adar," Elrohir laughed.

"The way Isilmei tells it," Legolas said as he lifted an eyebrow, "the two of _you_ caused the family far more concern than the girls ever did."

"What?!" They asked in unison with identical expressions of mock surprise.

A tall figure, narrow waisted and broad shouldered, entered the room before Legolas could take his joke further. Confidence and pride adorned the newcomer's shoulders as a glowing mantle. The ellon spotted Legolas and quickly made his way over.

"My lords, may I introduce to you Turwaithion of Eryn Lasgalen. Long have he and I fought side by side to defend the Woodland Realm. He is an old friend and an accomplished warrior."

Turwaithion bowed slightly to the princes of Imladris. "My lords."

"My friend, this is Lord Elladan," Legolas said with a gesture toward the taller of the twins, "and this is Lord Elrohir."

"Did you have any trouble?" Elrohir asked.

"No, my Lord," Turwaithion said with crisp assurance. "Though we greatly appreciated the reinforcements you sent. The orcs have been destroyed."

"How many were there in total?" Elladan queried.

"Twenty-two. The rest of our party is with your warriors in the stables depositing their mounts. They should arrive shortly."

"Good," Elladan said with a satisfied nod. He raised an arm to gesture toward the buffet table. "Please, consider yourself welcome and take the opportunity to refresh yourself. We will host a welcome banquet for all of you later this evening."

The slender warrior bowed in thanks and stepped toward the table. Legolas watched as the rest of his guards and the contingent of Imladris warriors spilled into the room. The twins moved to greet their warriors and guests.

There was one member of his party missing, Legolas noted, until he saw the slim, upright form of Orophin stride through the curved archway. Legolas smiled and nodded a quick greeting to both Orophin and his companion. At Orophin's side was a willowy elleth who was nearly as tall as he was. Her hair was the color of rich honey, pulled away from her face but otherwise hanging in shiny, straight profusion about her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes, wide and deeply blue like exquisite sapphires, glowed with happiness as she gazed at Orophin. The two of them held hands. Legolas could easily see the glow of contentment that surrounded the pair.

He was about to approach his friends until he realized that Orophin had set his gaze upon Isilmei. She spotted them across the room and excused herself from Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil to meet the couple near the door. As Legolas was aware of the kinship between Orophin and Isilmei's former intended, he surmised that the coming conversation might be family-related and decided to move back to the buffet table so they could have a moment of relative privacy.

He lifted a plate and began filling it with food. In spite of himself, his ears could not help picking up the dulcet tones of Isilmei's voice floating through the air.

"This must be…."

"Yes," Orophin gushed as his face beamed with pride. "Sister, allow me to present Míril. My betrothed."

Míril's smile stretched from ear to ear. "I have heard much about Orophin's good, true friend," she said. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"And it is an honor to meet you," Isilmei returned with a smile of her own. "You have made him so very happy. I am delighted for you both." The ellith gripped each other's hands in sisterly solidarity.

"What a lovely ring," Isilmei enthused when her eyes fell upon the silver betrothal ring adorning the index finger of Míril's right hand.

"Thank you," Míril returned with a soft smile as she looked up into the face of her beloved. "It was his naneth's."

Legolas could feel the sudden churn in Isilmei's emotions even before he heard the slight choking sound that issued from her throat. "Ai," she gasped, seeming to struggle for words all of a sudden. His eyes snapped to her face as he dropped all pretense of browsing the buffet.

"It…is lovely," she stammered. He could see that she was fighting to keep her smile in place, but it was slipping in spite of her efforts. "It looks beautiful on you," she said quietly. "I am so happy for you both."

Realization flashed in Orophin's gray eyes. "Isilmei…"

"Will you please excuse me?" she said before she hurried from the room.

For a split second Orophin and Míril stared at one another as Legolas watched them.

"Did I say something wrong?" Míril asked with genuine concern.

"No, my jewel," Orophin soothed as he gripped her arm and pecked a quick kiss upon her lips. "I believe I know what upset her, but I must find out for sure. I will explain everything later, I promise." He quickly left her side and followed Isilmei into the dimly lit corridor.

Míril gaped after him as Legolas closed the distance between them. He did not care that whatever was wrong was none of his business. Isilmei was clearly upset, and he must determine the cause and do what he could to comfort her. He had not brought her this far to watch her suffer. "Here," he told Míril gently as he pressed the plate of food he had prepared into her hands.

"Prince Legolas," she said with a start, her velvety blue eyes wide and full of concern as she dropped a quick curtsy.

"I look forward to enjoying your company later, Lady Míril" he assured her as he squeezed her elbow. "For now, please excuse me." With that he exited the room and strode off after his friends.

He realized that Isilmei and her shadow must have broken into a sprint soon after leaving the reception room, for there was no sign of them in the corridor. As he jogged after them, he noticed the slight disturbance of a large fern just at the entrance to a walking path which broke off from the passageway. Its fronds swayed gently back and forth though the plants behind it were still. He ducked down the path.

The stones marking the trail were dark with moisture and covered with moss which showed signs of recent disturbance. He must be on the right trail. Low hanging leaves and the foliage of mature plantings crowded the path, creating an inviting green tunnel through which he traveled. The moss muffled the quiet sound of his steps.

A break in the trees around the next bend signaled a clearing of some kind. As he rounded the curve of the trail he saw Orophin entering the clearing and beyond the tall warrior's shoulder, Isilmei sat hunched over upon a carved stone bench. Her face was in her hands, and Legolas longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.

In spite of his intentions to follow Orophin into the cloistered garden, Legolas stepped into the verge beside the pathway when Isilmei looked up at her companion. He found himself suddenly unsure of his place in this situation as a warning voice deep within him told him that interrupting the conversation that was about to take place would be unwise. Yet, how he hated the sight of tear tracks on her pretty countenance as another voice urged him to protect her from whatever it was that had upset her so. As he stood there silently arguing with himself about what was the proper course to take, he could finally see both their faces when Orophin reached the bench and crouched down so that he could peer up into Isilmei's eyes.

Orophin placed one large hand on her knee. "Sister, tell me what is wrong."

She shook her head, burying her face within her hands once more. "Everything is fine, Orophin," she said, her words obscured by her hands and the tremor in her voice.

He shook his head as he patted her knee. "You are a _terrible_ liar. I do not recommend a career as a stage performer for you."

She laughed in spite of herself and lowered her hands to meet his gaze. Wiping her hands on her skirt to remove her tears before placing her fingers on top of Orophin's, she gave him a watery smile. "Duly noted, brother."

Orophin smiled at the term of endearment and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his knuckles. "Naneth's ring was meant for you. Is that it?" His voice was both pained and sympathetic.

Legolas felt his words like a blow, knowing the impact they must have on Isilmei. As he expected, her expression crumpled as she nodded. A fresh wave of tears coursed down her cheeks as Orophin pulled her against him and hugged her tightly.

She threw her arms about his neck and returned his embrace for a long moment before taking a deep breath and sitting upright once more. She angrily swiped her hands at her cheeks to brush away her tears. Legolas stood transfixed, his feeling of guilt at eavesdropping warring with his desire to rush in and comfort her, as well as his certainty that he would be most unwelcome at the moment. This was a situation that must be worked out by Haldir's brother. If Isilmei wanted Legolas to know of it – which he highly doubted for she hardly even alluded to her former intended with him – she would tell him about it in her own time.

"I am sorry." Orophin's voice was gentle. "He did not tell me."

She shook her head. "It is not your fault, Orophin. You must not blame yourself. I am sorry for my outburst."

"Isilmei…"

"No," she said with a stubborn shake of her head. "He asked me if I would wear it, but he did not give it to me." She took a deep breath and reached out a hand to caress the side of his face as she summoned a tremulous smile. "_You_ are the eldest brother. Your naneth's ring was meant for Míril, my friend, and none other."

Orophin placed a broad palm over her fingers as they rested against his cheek. Legolas suspected she was trying very hard to be brave for her friend as she attempted to talk them both into believing what she was saying.

And yet, the next smile she gave him as she dropped her hand to his shoulder was more confident. "I can see how happy the two of you make each other, and I am very, very glad for you. Please believe me."

"I do," Orophin assured her.

"I was simply caught off guard. I apologize for upsetting you both. Would you please give my regards to Míril?"

"I shall," he said as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Will you join us after dinner? I would like for the two of you to become better acquainted."

"I would like that," she said. Her poise was returning. "Thank you for understanding."

He smiled at her with the fondness he might show a younger sister. "May I escort you back to the reception?"

She glanced around her and shook her head. "I think I would like another moment to order my thoughts. I will rejoin you shortly."

Orophin inclined his head and left by the same path he had taken into the clearing. Legolas, thoroughly ashamed of himself for spying on what was meant to be a private moment, decided to follow him after giving the taller ellon a head start. He watched Isilmei just long enough to make sure that she had truly regained her equilibrium. As he was about to turn and leave, a tall, lithe ellon with sharp features and an intense expression stepped into the opposite side of the clearing. Isilmei gasped and shot to her feet, all color draining from her face.

TBC…


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Garden Assignations and Forced Professions**

Celeborn concealed himself in the verge just in time to see Orophin stride away and focused his attention on the two figures in the garden. On the opposite side of the clearing he espied Thranduil's son lurking in the foliage. _'Ah,'_ he thought. It seemed that her doting grandfather was not the only one concerned for Isilmei's wellbeing. The prince had tucked himself into the shadows underneath the trailing branches of a willow tree and looked like he had been about to leave until the young warrior stepped into the clearing and faced Isilmei. The look on Thranduilion's face was more than enough to confirm Celeborn's suspicions about the prince's interest in his granddaughter.

She gasped when she recognized the lean warrior and stood, quickly turning on her heel to follow after Orophin. Her cheeks blanched as she recognized the ellon staring at her.

"Wait." Rumil's eyes gave the lie to his outward confidence, revealing his trepidation even as his feet rooted firmly to the ground. He held out a hand toward Isilmei in supplication.

Isilmei froze in place but did not immediately turn to face Rumil. Dread crawled coldly across her sweet face. During the pregnant pause that hung in the garden air, Celeborn contemplated charging into the garden and interrupting the confrontation, for he had no intention of allowing the young warden to wound his granddaughter again. He had allowed the warden to approach Isilmei in the hopes that an apology would be offered, and in full knowledge that contrition freely given meant more than that expressed under duress. Celeborn had refrained from forcing Rumil to apologize for his harsh words years earlier only because Galadriel had promised him that in time he would come to regret his harsh words and would make amends. Still, the emotional damage Rumil had done Isilmei after his return from Rohan had resulted in her collapse, and Celeborn had yet to fully forgive Rumil for his actions even though he knew they had been motivated by pain rather than malice.

Celeborn took a step but halted his advance when he saw the suffering in Rumil's eyes, opting instead to study the faces of the two ellyn who stood staring at his little granddaughter. Rumil's angular face was without its characteristic haughtiness. He had dropped his calm mask as he stared hard at Isilmei's back and his expression revealed the deep emotional pain with which he still struggled. Legolas Thranduilion looked every bit the champion ready to rush to the lady's rescue, his snapping eyes full of concern and wariness as he regarded Rumil. Celeborn doubted that Legolas had any idea why Isilmei was so nervous around the other young ellon as he seemed bent on finding answers through covert observation. A wry smile at the absurdity of the situation lifted one corner of Celeborn's mouth.

"I did not come here to attack you," Rumil said softly in the same tone he might take to calm a wounded animal. Celeborn's gaze bore into the young warden to judge the veracity of his words, relaxing only when he saw Rumil's sincerity. Across the way, under the willow, Legolas's stance relaxed slightly as well. Yet both watchers remained wary.

Isilmei finally turned to face the warden. "I was just leaving. Please excuse me," she said stiffly.

Before she could turn to leave, Rumil took a step forward. He planted his feet once more when he saw the way Isilmei flinched at his approach. "Please," he entreated. "I came to talk to you."

She regarded him in silence for a long moment, taking several deep breaths as she studied him. She seemed to calm somewhat, but did not speak as she faced Rumil.

Confusion and…_something_ else flickered in Rumil's dark gray eyes as he studied Isilmei's face. Was it concern? "Why is it that every time I see you, you are in tears, or nearly so?"

Isilmei huffed out a surprised laugh, drawing herself up to her full height as she swiped the back of her hand across one cheek. An emotion too close to bitterness for Celeborn's liking flashed in the blue of her eyes. "I suppose you have witnessed some of my weaker moments." She took another deep breath and released it with a quiet sigh. "Now, if you will excuse me…"

"And you have witnessed some of mine," Rumil said with humility. "One in particular."

She gasped, slim white fingers rising to press against her lips. Neither of them spoke for a tense moment. Isilmei's hand trembled against her mouth.

"I am sorry," Rumil told her. "You did not deserve my rage."

A long silent moment stretched between the two of them. Celeborn was surprised at the humble sincerity so clearly obvious in Rumil's posture and demeanor.

Isilmei's expression softened as her blue eyes melted with empathy. "You were hurting."

"Yes," Rumil admitted, looking both shocked and even more sorrowful at the compassion in Isilmei's voice. "And so were you. I did not understand that, but I do now."

Her only response was to drop her gaze toward the moss covered stones, followed by a subtle nod of her blonde head.

Rumil's gaze never left her as he seemed to take heart in the fact that she was willing to listen to him. "Orophin made a number of things clear to me in the months following my outburst."

Isilmei bit her bottom lip and continued to study the ground at her feet.

"Please," Rumil's plea was soft and intense. "I would take it all back if I could, but I know that I cannot. It would mean a lot to me if you could find it in your heart to forgive me. Can you…_will_ you…accept my apology?"

A crease formed between her brows as though she was deep in thought. Celeborn watched and waited to learn her reaction, surprised that she did not forgive Rumil more readily for she had ever been eager to ease another's tension, to bring a smile to another's face. The harm the young warden had done her must have been even deeper than her guardians had realized. After a long, thoughtful pause, she drew in a deep breath and stood tall, leveling her shoulders and raising her chin as a small smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. "Under one condition."

"Which is?" Rumil had the look of the guilty at sentencing – willing to take ownership of his offense, but dreading the judgment to be read against him.

"That you accept my friendship in exchange."

As Celeborn watched the conversation unfolding in front of him, he decided that his young one rather reminded him of her grandmother. She had finally settled her nerves and watched in a calm, steady way as Rumil's reaction to her request played across his face. She had made up her mind, and was unwilling to accept compromise or argument. He felt a surge of pride in his heart for the little one they had raised. It was, he realized, perhaps the first time he saw her as the fully grown adult she had become rather than the precious elfling she once was.

"You would wish to be my friend after what I said to you?" Rumil's voice revealed both his surprise and his confusion at her request.

"Yes," she returned calmly as she nodded her head. "In fact, I would like that very much. With Orophin joining us in Ithilien, I would think that you would at least be visiting him from time to time. I do not want animosity to linger between us."

Some of the rigidity in Rumil's frame began to melt as a lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. "Orophin was certain that the prince would persuade you to join the Ithilien colony."

"He was?" One of her dark brows arched in surprise.

Rumil's reply was a widening of his smile and a brisk nod of his blond head.

"The prince can be very persuasive when he has a mind to be." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him for a moment. "Have _you_ thought of coming to Ithilien?"

Rumil shook his head and shrugged one shoulder. "I…My brother and I have discussed it, but I have yet to make up my mind."

"You should consider it. The colony will need strong warriors to defend it." Her expression relaxed as she continued to watch him, and it was only the quiet certainty in her face that caused Celeborn to release the tension that had built in his shoulders. "And I know how happy it would make Orophin to have his brother near."

"Happiness is a concept which has become difficult for me to understand," Rumil admitted softly as he lowered his gaze. "What of you? Have you…found happiness?"

There was a lost look in the gray eyes that nearly summoned forth a wave of sympathy within Celeborn. From the way Isilmei raised a hand as though to reach for Rumil before she thought better of it and lowered her hand back to her side, Celeborn was reassured that her instinct to care for others was as strong as it had ever been.

"Some," she said. Celeborn happened to glance at his young companion beneath the willow just in time to catch the frown on the prince's face and the furrowing of his brow. In the clearing Isilmei continued speaking, oblivious to her silent audience. "It is said that Imladris is a place of rest and healing. Have you not found those things here?"

"I have found…_peace_ here," Rumil answered. He took another step toward Isilmei, and then another. She held her ground this time without flinching. "But I am beginning to think that a new adventure might be just the thing for me. Perhaps some day happiness will find me."

She favored him with a soft smile. "Tell me of your stay in the Last Homely House. I was born here, but I have no memory of this place. Perhaps you could give me a tour?"

Celeborn was surprised, though pleased, by the peaceful resolution achieved by the young ones in the clearing. He watched as Rumil offered Isilmei his arm with all courtly formality and she smiled shyly as she accepted it. They left together down a path on the far side of the garden.

The prince stared after them for a long moment as though trying to determine whether or not he should pursue them. When he finally stepped out from his hiding place and turned to withdraw the way he had come, he discovered Celeborn blocking the path.

"My Lord!" Vivid color rose to the tips of the prince's ears at being caught spying.

Celeborn crossed his arms over his chest and used his greater height to look down his nose at the princeling. "Why do you eavesdrop on private conversations in this manner?" Never mind that he had just been doing the same thing. He was a parent, and a grandparent, and had a guardian's right to look after the happiness and safety of his young.

Again, the prince flushed guiltily, but to Celeborn's surprise a degree of challenge flashed in his eyes. "Why do you?"

"Answer your elder, youngling." Celeborn never would have admitted it to the prince, but he felt the urge to laugh.

Legolas wisely chose to answer his question. "I was concerned for her welfare. She was upset when she left the reception."

Celeborn arched a brow. "And so you thought that skulking in the verge was the appropriate way to ensure her welfare."

"It seemed to be a private moment," the prince said as a third wave of color rose above his collar. "My intention was to enter the clearing behind Orophin and offer what comfort I could, but their conversation was already beginning when I approached. I was worried she might not speak freely if I interrupted them, and the conversation seemed to be one she needed to have."

"What motivates this great concern you profess to have for my granddaughter?"

The prince was silent for a long moment and Celeborn could see that the young ellon fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. To Celeborn's amusement, Legolas lifted his chin with a look of defiance and asked, "Why is it unacceptable for me to be here when you were apparently committing the same offense?"

A grin quirked at Celeborn's mouth before he could stifle it completely. "She is my granddaughter," he began in level tones. "As you may be aware, that warrior she just left with was one of my wardens in Lothlorien. He once hurt her very deeply." He paused as a memory of the sight of his little pearl lying pallid and unresponsive for days rose in his mind. "He had just entered the reception through the far door when the three of you left. He followed immediately, and I was worried he would upset her further."

In the silence that followed Legolas turned his eyes once more to stare down the path across the garden.

"_My_ concern for her stems from the fact that she is family," Celeborn continued quietly. "My lady wife and I stepped in where her parents could not and have watched over her for most of her life. We consider her one of our own every bit as much as the others."

Legolas returned his gaze to Celeborn's and nodded his head. The defiance from a moment before had left the prince's expression.

"Now, I have answered your question, young prince. Kindly answer mine. What motivates your concern for Isilmei?"

The prince's voice was sincere when he said, "Great affection."

"Is that all?" Celeborn was certain of the answer to his question even before the princeling's expression shifted to one of nervous entreaty. Suddenly the prince looked less the champion and more the anxious youth coming to call on his beloved's parents. A familiar sense of reluctant irritation rose within Celeborn.

"I had hoped to speak to you at a more felicitous time." Legolas began shyly.

"Speak now." Celeborn made no effort to hide his frown.

"I wish to court your granddaughter, my Lord." Celeborn watched as the prince hesitated, before speaking the words that had been certain to follow. "In time, I would seek to make her my wife, and the Lady of Elven Ithilien."

In the silence that followed Celeborn studied the princeling's face and could see the determination that underlay his nerves. "Do you love her?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in the answer.

"Does she know?" Celeborn could not help wondering if he was in for a repeat of the unpleasantness that had followed the last such request he had received.

"Not yet, for I wanted to wait until I had spoken to you before I confessed my heart to her. But I can tell you that Arwen and Aragorn know of my intentions and support them."

The answer surprised Celeborn, but he was pleased that Thranduil's son had waited to speak with Isilmei's guardian before pressing his suit upon her. "Does she love you?"

The first hint of doubt flickered in the prince's eyes. "I do not know," he admitted with a shake of his golden head. "But we have become more than friends. She trusts me, and she cares about me. Of that I am certain. She believes in my cause and has elected to come to Ithilien and become Chief Healer."

That last bit of news surprised him out of his ruminations about how similar this little speech was to one he had heard before. There were many differences between the lean prince standing before him and his former Chief Marchwarden, and yet in some ways they had much in common. Considering the culmination of that last situation, Celeborn was unsure whether he thought their similarities a positive or a negative in relation to his granddaughter's future happiness. He frowned at the prince's words. "She did not mention this development in her last letter."

"The decision was made shortly before we left Minas Tirith for Imladris, my Lord."

"And so your purpose here is twofold," Celeborn summarized. "You are here to win Elves to your cause, and to win my permission to court my granddaughter."

"Yes, my Lord." Legolas had the good sense to look humble as he spoke and inclined his head. He placed his hand over his heart in a gesture of respect that only slightly mollified Celeborn.

"When had you planned on speaking with me about your intentions?"

Legolas's expression brightened to the look of one who is eager to earn favor. "After we had been here a few weeks and you had an opportunity to observe the two of us together. I wanted you to see how deeply I care for her and how important her happiness is to me _before_ I spoke to you so that you would know the seriousness of my intent."

"It was a wise plan," Celeborn admitted begrudgingly. "And it might have worked, if not for the eavesdropping."

Legolas did not look away, but prudently refrained from reiterating that Celeborn himself had committed the same transgression.

He finally quirked a smile as he said, "I hope you have daughters, Thranduilion. _Beautiful_ daughters. And that they have many, many suitors."

The prince's forehead creased in confusion. "My Lord?"

"Perhaps you will understand in time," Celeborn replied with rueful laugh and a shake of his head. "I will not give you the permission you seek."

Legolas looked crushed.

"Not until I have a chance to make the observations you mentioned, for I just do not know you well enough to trust you with my granddaughter's heart. But I will entertain this topic again before you depart." He held up a hand in caution. "Speak not of this to Isilmei, for I want to observe her natural responses to the events of the next few weeks."

Realizing that he had not been denied outright sent a flood of relief into the princeling's expression. "Aye, my Lord."

Celeborn had seen enough to believe that Thranduil's son cared for Isilmei, but was not yet convinced that the match was in his granddaughter's best interests. He missed his wife keenly in that moment for he wished for her counsel. "Also, I can tell you now that if I do give my blessing, there will be two conditions which you must agree to meet. Would you like to hear them?"

Legolas nodded eagerly.

"The first is that if she becomes your wife, you must promise to always love her, treat her with respect, see to her happiness, and keep her safe."

"That goes without saying, my Lord."

Celeborn was almost amused at the insulted look on the prince's face. Perhaps the young one before him really did love her already. "The second is that you must give me your word that she will not linger. When the two of you have accomplished all that you desire in Middle Earth, you must bring her to Aman and restore her to her family. There is to be no negotiating on either of these conditions."

"I understand."

"Are you willing to abide by these terms?"

"Yes, my Lord." There was no hesitation or uncertainty in the prince's voice. His eyes were clear and lit with determination. Celeborn was pleased with the prince's ready acceptance of his demands.

"Then see me before you leave Imladris and we will talk again."

"I will."

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

Legolas left the garden path with the feeling of one who has escaped certain punishment. His heart swelled with giddy confidence that in time Lord Celeborn would be persuaded to grant him the permission he sought. It had surprised him to discover the ancient Elven lord employing methods similar to his own to ensure Isilmei's safety and wellbeing, and he was keenly aware that the circumstances under which Lord Celeborn forced him to prematurely reveal his hand could have spelled disaster. Yet thankfully Isilmei's grandfather seemed to believe the sincerity of Legolas's motives and had left the door open to further discussion. It was not quite the outcome he wanted, but for the moment he was pacified.

His mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions as he entered his usual quarters. He had visited Imladris so many times in recent years that he had come to think of these rooms as his own and the twins had long since stopped informing him of his accommodations when he arrived. Legolas saw that a porter had indeed retrieved his traveling packs and placed them on the floor next to the bed. He stepped into the suite, his joy dissipating like smoke when he realized he had a visitor.

'_Brilliant. Just what I need right now,'_ he sighed inwardly. He carefully schooled his expression into one of polite surprise. "Adar. I could have come to your quarters, sir."

The King of Eryn Lasgalen reclined in a plush chair facing the window with one booted foot resting on the sill. His golden mane glowed softly in the light of candles set aflame to push back the evening's creeping shadow. "Tell me, my windblown leaf, what is the nature of your interest in the young elleth? You seem uncharacteristically taken with her."

Legolas stifled a groan of frustration. Another intrusive personal conversation with a pushy elder was the last obstacle he wanted to face this afternoon. It was turning out to be a very trying day. Perhaps it would have been less so if he had stayed in the woods with the orcs.

The look of patient expectation on his father's face finally prompted him to speak. "Do you refer to the Lady Isilmei?"

The king snorted, indicating that he saw through his son's ruse and was not impressed by his attempt to stall. "I saw the way you looked at her in the courtyard, yet I would think you too inconsistent to become so enamored with just one other. Does she know that you rarely alight in one place for more than a few weeks?"

"Do you really know so little about me, Adar?" Legolas shot back as he propped both fists on his hips. He was sure that his father could try the patience of the Valar.

King Thranduil raised one dark slanted eyebrow and looked serenely unconcerned by Legolas's fit of pique. Like a dog with a bone, his father persisted in his line of inquiry. "What makes Celeborn's fosterling so interesting to you?"

Legolas felt a fresh flash of irritation at the dismissive way his father referred to her. "She was raised as his _granddaughter_, not as a mere fosterling. And you can easily see the bonds of affection between them."

His father studied him quietly for a moment before narrowing his eyes in thought. "She does come from a noble house. As the daughter of Elrond's uncle, a match with her would have certain advantages." Legolas began to relax until his father unleashed his next volley in the on-going battle of wills between them. "Perhaps an introduction should be arranged for your brother."

"No!" He took a step forward but abruptly stopped under the stern glare of his father's blue eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"She is not for Ferion, Adar," Legolas snapped. He sought to quickly suppress his anger as he realized that it would get him nowhere. His voice was quiet but intense when he said, "She is for me."

For the first time in a good while – since he had informed his father of his plans to establish the colony at Ithilien, in fact – surprise played across the king's features as he regarded Legolas. In the pause that followed, neither ellon moved.

Finally his father spoke. "I have decided to join your naneth, Legolas. When I leave Ferion will be the King of Eryn Lasgalen. Your elleth is kin to Celeborn, true, but she is even closer in kinship to Elrond, and so to his sons and daughter." Legolas frowned, beginning to understand where his father was going with his line of thought and not pleased in the least. "She has kinship ties to Lorien, Imladris, and Gondor. Most interesting. A strategic match bridging Ferion to all three realms would be most appropriate. And since the Queen Undomiel is already wed, the Lady Isilmei is the best available option."

Legolas did his best to swallow the rising tide of frustration and bitterness within him. Could he do nothing for himself without his father insinuating his own agenda? "A moment ago you referred to her as a fosterling, as though she was an orphaned fawn, and now you are extolling her virtues as a political bride. You cannot have it both ways."

"Why are you becoming so petulant?" the king demanded with a frown. "What makes you think that she is _for_ _you_, as you put it?"

"Because I _love_ her." It would do no good to lie to his father, so he simply spoke the truth.

"So?"

"Adar!" This conversation was becoming more absurd by the moment. "Did you not love Naneth before you married her? Do you not miss her every day?" If Legolas had not known his father so well he might have missed the flash of longing that flitted across the stern face at the mention of his wife. Legolas pounced on that opening. "Can you look at me and honestly deny that you love her still? Did you not just indicate that Naneth is the reason you have decided to leave these shores?"

His father turned his eyes toward the window and stared out into the night sky as he responded. "I miss her so much that I am finally leaving behind my sons, all that I have built, all that my adar and I worked and fought for, so that I can once more be at her side."

"Then what is this about, Ada? Why are you saying these things?"

King Thranduil turned to face Legolas and pinned him with the unyielding glare that never failed to make his sons flinch. The same disappointment and frustration he had so often seen in his father's face were clearly on display. "Because I want you to _think_, son. You no longer have the _luxury_ of acting upon your impulses without considering the consequences of those actions."

"I…"

"You are about to be Lord of Ithilien. Your own realm, which _you_ must guide into fruition. Your decisions and actions have real consequences, son, not just for yourself but for those who will follow you. Their lives, their happiness, their successes and failures rest upon _your_ shoulders and will be determined based upon _your_ decisions."

Legolas felt simultaneously chastised and disappointed that his father appeared not to realize that the ellon standing before him was no longer the carefree elfling whose days consisted of climbing trees and playing at sword fighting. Those days were long behind him, and yet his own father seemed unaware of that fact as though he had ceased noticing his younger son the moment his wife sailed West. The anger that had been building within Legolas faded to a vague sadness as he realized the futility of trying to prove his worth to his father. "I know this," he said tiredly. His arms dropped to his sides and he turned to sit upon the foot of his bed.

"Do you? Then you must realize that the selection of your mate is of considerable importance to your subjects," his father pressed. "You must learn to think with your head instead of your heart – or," King Thranduil paused to wave a dismissive hand in Legolas's direction, "_other_ parts of your anatomy – for you can no longer afford to make rash decisions."

Legolas stopped, thinking hard about what his father was telling him and suspecting that his father was revealing more of himself than he consciously intended. Legolas and his brother had been raised knowing of the love their parents shared, and treasuring the few memories they had of happy family times before their mother took ship. But in some dim corner of his memory Legolas recalled learning that before his mother became the Princess of Greenwood and later Queen of Mirkwood, she had been the only daughter of a prominent Silvan family. Her decision to bind herself to Prince Thranduil helped forge an alliance between the House of Oropher and the Silvans of the Greenwood. It was only natural, then, Legolas supposed, that his father would look at the marriages of his sons in the same light. He felt a surge of sadness for his father, and gratefulness that the union between his parents had proved to be a happy one for their situation was atypical among the Eldar. Most Elves married only for love, without consideration of other factors – exactly the way Legolas himself intended.

Perhaps, he thought, he began to understand his father better – the king missed his mate, but had spent of most of his life feeling that he was wed first and foremost to his realm. If he ever found himself in the same position, Legolas wondered, would he make the same choice? Or would he put family first in his affections and allegiances? If circumstances forced him to choose between Ithilien and Isilmei, what decision would he make?

As he studied the proud, uncompromising monarch sitting before him, Legolas finally realized that there would be no true meeting of the minds between himself and his father. The respect Legolas held for his father and his ages of dedicated service to their people, combined with certainty that the king's convictions were impenetrable, prompted Legolas to compose what he hoped would be a politically-acceptable response. "Adar, Lady Isilmei is a princess – both by birth and by upbringing. Her goodness inspires the best in others, in me. She is a gifted healer, and has agreed to become head of the colony's healing wards. She is beloved of King Elessar and Queen Undomiel, and considered a trusted friend by Prince Faramir and Princess Eowyn. She will make a fine liaison between Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Given that Ithilien is within Gondor's control, their support is vital. She will be an important tie between our realms." He felt almost unclean saying the words, for though there was truth in them, none of that mattered to him as much as the fact that he loved her and believed the two of them well-matched.

"_Now_ you speak as one who is ready to rule," his father said with a satisfied nod.

Legolas knew he should refrain from expressing any of his own opinions when his father was in this mood, but could not help the words that followed. "I believe it is possible to be both a successful ruler and a happily bonded ellon," he said quietly. "Because my adar set that example for me. My fëa calls out to hers, Ada. I have never known this kind of love before, but I know with great certainty that she is part of my destiny."

A hint of uncharacteristic softness crept into his father's eyes. "Are you truly ready to give up your rootless ways and settle down with one elleth, in one realm?"

"Yes." He had no doubt on either front.

The king stood and Legolas rose to his own feet out of respect. "Then I will say no more about introducing her to your brother." His father winked at him and pulled him into a quick, tight embrace before leaving the room.

Legolas closed the door behind his father before throwing himself down upon the bed. He had much to contemplate and precious little energy left to do so before he must go to the Hall of Fire and present his vision for Ithilien to the people of Imladris.

TBC…


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: Quiet Moments and Bittersweet Reflections**

_Later that evening…_

Celeborn sat working quietly at his desk, composing a missive to Amathon, Captain of the City Patrol and the one currently in charge of affairs in East Lorien. Though Celeborn had spent a number of years in Imladris thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to reconnect with his grandsons, he was at heart a creature of habit. Millennia spent nurturing and protecting Lorien and its inhabitants rendered him incapable of abdicating his care and concern for those who remained behind in the forest. Amathon had proven a capable leader and those who had stayed were by all reports thriving in spite of the Golden Wood's transition, but Celeborn insisted on maintaining a regular and detailed correspondence with his captain for it gave him a sense of connection to a place that held so many poignant memories for him.

A fire crackled quietly in the fireplace, providing a peaceful accompaniment to the scratching of his quill across parchment. Nights were cooler in Imladris than they usually were in Lorien, and a fire – entirely impractical in telain – had become a most pleasant comfort on dreary evenings. An urgent knock at the door disturbed his thoughts.

"Come," he said softly.

Prince Legolas burst through the door, a look of tension and urgency marring his face. Celeborn did not need his wife's ability to peer into the minds of others to know that something weighed on the princeling heavily.

"Lord Celeborn, your granddaughter is missing. I went to her room to collect her for dinner, but the attendant said she left and no one has seen her in more than two marks of the candle. I…"

"Peace, young Thranduilion, she is right here." With that he gestured to the settee across from the fire to the sleeping form cuddled underneath a soft blanket.

The prince breathed a deep sigh of relief as the disquiet bled away from his features. "Thank the Valar." His voice dropped to match the quiet Celeborn sought to preserve in the room so that his granddaughter could rest. Legolas silently closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. For her part, Isilmei gave no sign whatsoever of being aware of the disturbance.

"She fell into deep reverie as we talked." As one corner of Celeborn's mouth lifted into a wry smile, he said, "I choose to believe that it was the long journey and not my company which caused her to drift off."

The prince laughed softly. "I am sure you are correct."

Celeborn's gaze returned to Isilmei. She lay on her side facing the fire, one hand curled next to her chin. Her knees were bent, which enabled him to cover her from toes to chin underneath the lap blanket he had spread around her. Her expression was peaceful, her breathing maintaining the deep, slow pattern of one who is deeply slumbering. "She is exhausted."

"She did well on the trail, but I do not think she has quite grown accustomed to sleeping on the road," Legolas said as he turned soft eyes toward her. "She has looked so forward to seeing you, my Lord. She spoke of your reunion repeatedly."

He favored his youngest with an indulgent smile. "It is good to see her. I have missed her greatly."

"She loves you very much," the prince said. Celeborn appreciated the sincerity in Legolas's voice and expression. Thranduil's son was an earnest young ellon who was blessedly without the giant branch his father seemed to have lodged up his nether region.

Celeborn pushed the permanent irritation he nursed for Thranduil aside to focus on happier thoughts. "I know. And I love her." He glanced at the prince, whose eyes were still glued to Pearl's sweetly sleeping form. The uncharacteristic dark circles under her sleep-clouded eyes hinted at how tiring the journey had been for her and prompted him to take the prince into his confidence. "It is possible we did our job too well, Legolas."

A crease marked the prince's smooth brow as his eyes finally left Isilmei's face. "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"Isilmei is the elfling Galadriel and I never expected to have," he explained quietly. "When she was little, she was so very happy. Always. So full of joy and life and light. Having her in our lives helped ease the ache of losing our daughter. Her innocent happiness meant so much to us that we sheltered her. Perhaps too much so. If I had done a better job of pushing some sort of warrior training upon her, she might be more resilient now."

"She is a treasure, Lord Celeborn," the prince insisted with a shake of his head. "I have no trouble understanding why you sought to protect her, for I would have done exactly the same thing."

They shared a smile as he appraised the prince, noting the tenderness in Legolas's expression when he again regarded the sleeping Isilmei. "In light of our earlier conversation, I will tell you that Pearl and I have maintained a steady correspondence during her time in Gondor."

"She has mentioned it," Legolas said with a nod. "Your letters always brighten her day."

"She thinks very highly of you. Her regard for you is the main reason I was willing to hear your suit."

Legolas smiled with the brightness of a new dawn.

"She believes you ready to lead Ithilien, and capable of making it a great success."

The prince bowed his head in humble gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Do not thank me, thank her," Celeborn said with a wave of his hand. "I have always found my granddaughter to be a good judge of character."

In the distance a chime sounded, inviting all those who were hungry to convene in the main banquet hall for dinner.

"You should not be tardy for this meal, Legolas. It would be bad form under the circumstances." Celeborn looked to his granddaughter as he lay down his quill and slipped his feet back into his shoes. "Isilmei, my pearl. Rise and shine. It is time for dinner."

She stirred only to nestle deeper into the settee's cushions.

His smile was indulgent as he tried again. "Come back to the land of the waking, little one. You need to eat."

Her blue eyes cleared as consciousness returned and she rubbed at her eyes with one hand. "Grandfather! I apologize. I must have been more tired than I knew." She pushed herself up on one elbow and swung her feet to the floor.

He chuckled. "It is all right, Pearl. But it is time for the evening meal."

When she quickly stood, he saw that her exhaustion must be more pressing than he thought, for her balance was lacking. Her body sagged down toward the divan as her eyes rolled back in her head.

With a blur of motion the prince crossed the room and caught her around the waist. He pulled her against his side and sat her gently back on the cushions. "Are you unwell?" He brushed a lock of hair behind her shoulder as he studied her face.

Celeborn had intended to go to her, but instead sat back down in his chair and watched the interaction with keen interest as his granddaughter leaned into the prince's touch and favored him with a grateful smile. "I am fine. I just stood too soon is all."

The prince did not look convinced. "Perhaps you should return to your room and rest. I can have an attendant bring you something."

She shook her head, gripping the prince's hand as she slowly raised herself back to her feet. Legolas stood with her and steadied her as she reached her full height. "No," she insisted. "Your followers should all be beside you tonight, Legolas. I am ready."

Celeborn approved, both of the interaction between the two young ones before him as well as of Isilmei's assessment of the situation and her willingness to put aside her own needs for those of the prince. Her actions showed that she truly did support Legolas's plans for the new colony. And perhaps, he thought, the seeds of a fine match were sprouting right before his eyes. Both situations would bear watching. He chose for the moment to ignore the fact that if his granddaughter took the prince of Eryn Lasgalen as her bondmate, there would be one more tie between himself and the irascible Thranduil. Only for Isilmei would he tolerate such a complication. _'At least it would mean that she chose to live as one of the Eldar, preventing her from accepting the doom of the Secondborn…Arwen…' _Celeborn roughly shoved aside his dark thoughts and forced himself to smile at the young couple approaching him.

As Legolas tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the doorway, Celeborn lifted her diadem off the corner of his desk and fitted it to her head. He kissed his granddaughter's cheek before leading the young couple toward the banquet hall.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Two weeks later…_

Autumn had been blessedly gentle with the hidden valley. Nights were cool enough that the great blaze in the Hall of Fire was welcome, but afternoons remained sunny and warm. Orophin had spent nearly every waking moment with his intended since returning to Imladris, and was delighted by her suggestion that they spend an especially pleasant afternoon enjoying a leisurely picnic above the falls.

The spot was one Míril said her parents often brought her to during her youth. A break in the mountain's steep rise created a small natural plateau which caught afternoon sunshine and offered a spectacular view of the valley. To one side of the plateau a waterfall plunged toward the Bruinen far below. A slender tree, growing stubbornly from a crevice in the rock face and twisting up toward the sun, cast dappled shadows upon their small gathering.

Remnants of a fine luncheon littered a large woven blanket upon which Orophin, Míril, and their two friends lounged. Orophin sat with his back to the tree's trunk, his long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles. One hand rested upon Míril's shoulder while the other gently combed her glorious hair. He enjoyed the sensation of the satin strands slipping through his fingers and the way the afternoon sun highlighted streaks of red and gold in her thick tresses. She lay with her lithe body stretched out perpendicular from him, her blue eyes taking in the cloudless sky above as her head rested in his lap.

On the opposite side of the blanket, Legolas sat with his legs folded cross-wise before him as he propped himself up with one arm. Orophin was quick to notice that Legolas brushed his knuckles against Isilmei's shoulder blade as he bent forward to lift his wine glass. She lay on her side in front of him watching the falls. A dreamy smile lit her face as she briefly met his gaze over her shoulder.

Orophin tried to suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he observed the silent exchange. He felt Míril's eyes on his face before he glanced down at her and saw in her own knowing smile that she too had noticed the connection between their friends.

He had first become aware that something was happening between Legolas and Isilmei in Minas Tirith. Legolas disappeared from their company shortly after seeing them to their assigned guest quarters, appearing again several hours later at dinner with Isilmei on his arm. Legolas was such a steady presence and so open about his activities that it struck Orophin as odd that the prince was so quick to leave without mentioning where he was headed. Within the first few days of their visit Orophin realized that the prince vanished at least once per day, invariably reappearing in the company of Isilmei.

It was at table one evening that Orophin's budding suspicions were confirmed. Legolas usually sat next to Isilmei; yet on one of their last nights in the city, Orophin himself sat next to her, with Legolas across the table. Orophin happened to look up just in time to catch the prince gazing at her with undisguised adulation.

The realization hit Orophin's heart that night with a bittersweet thump. Legolas was in love. He was happy for the prince who had quickly won his support, allegiance, and friendship, and happy for his dear friend Isilmei. And yet, he could not help thinking of his brother. Haldir had looked at her that way once, and harbored such confident, joyous plans for their future.

As Orophin recalled that night in Minas Tirith, he suppressed his melancholy thoughts with a deep sigh, for no good would come of indulging them. Haldir was not here – his fëa had fled to the Halls of Mandos when his hröa was mortally wounded – and that was the end of it. There was no way to know when, or _if_, Haldir would ever be released from the Halls to reunite with friends and family. The currents of life did not stand still for those left behind but carried them ever forward toward new adventures and new destinations.

Orophin knew that Legolas was a noble ellon who possessed a true heart. If he chose Isilmei to be his own and she returned his feelings, she would be well cared for and well loved. Though she seemed somewhat more guarded about her feelings, Isilmei was certainly relaxed and happy in the prince's company. Orophin was glad that they seemed to find such contentment in one another.

Míril ran one slim hand up his forearm and gripped his elbow. When he looked down at her, she was studying his face with a mixture of love and concern in her expression. He smiled tenderly at her, caressing the side of her face with the backs of his knuckles. Míril's was such a warm, empathetic spirit. They were not yet wed but she already seemed to know every thought and emotion that entered his mind. He had no idea why he had been blessed with her love, but he thanked the Valar that they had seen fit to bring her into his life.

Legolas turned his face up to the sun as he watched an eagle soaring lazily overhead. "Master Erestor told me this morning that he expects a heavy snowfall within the month, but I cannot understand why. It hardly seems like autumn has arrived in the valley, let alone winter. Snow seems the last thing on Nature's mind."

"There was frost on the ground this morning," Isilmei reminded him.

"Yes, but look around now. If temperatures remain this mild, some of the early spring bulbs will soon sprout."

"It has been unseasonably warm. We have usually had at least one snowfall by now, and many nights below freezing," Míril said softly.

Isilmei turned wide eyes upon Míril. "Do you have a lot of snow here?"

"Yes," Míril answered as she grinned at the unabashed enthusiasm in Isilmei's voice. "It is not unusual for us to receive snow five or six months out of the year."

Isilmei cast hopeful eyes over her shoulder at Legolas. "Do you think we will be able to stay long enough to see the first snowfall?"

He shrugged as he reached forward to lift a lock of hair that had fallen into her face and wind it about his index finger. "It is possible, though it would be better for us if we moved on before the weather finally turns cold. I would like to reach my father's keep before winter sets in." With a smile, he smoothed the lock into place behind her shoulder. "If we do not see it here, I promise you we will see snow on the ground in Eryn Lasgalen."

Orophin glanced down to see Míril studying Isilmei with open curiosity. "Have you never seen snow before?" she asked.

"I have, in the White City, but their snowfalls are few and far between. They rarely receive more than a couple of inches a year. I would like to see a _true_ snowfall; the kind described in books, with everything covered in a thick, quiet blanket of white." She nodded toward the valley stretching out before them. "I feel sure that Imladris is indescribably beautiful in winter."

Míril looked back and forth between Isilmei and Orophin. "It never snows in Lothlorien?"

Orophin shook his head as Isilmei answered for them. "Ai no. It was never cold enough for snow when we lived there."

"Ever?" Míril's tone was incredulous.

"Never," Orophin reiterated with a laugh. "It was always pleasant. We had all the typical seasons, and there were some chilly nights in winter time, but temperatures never dipped below freezing."

"I had never even seen frost before I moved to Minas Tirith," Isilmei added.

Míril's eyes were wide as she looked up into his face. "No wonder you found the Hall of Fire so unusual when you first came here."

He smiled at the memory, and at the way she had regarded him with such surprise when he expressed the kind of wonder at Imladris that Isilmei exhibited now. "Lothlorien was a very special place. I never gave it much thought before, but I have come to believe that even the weather was under the Lady Galadriel's control. She preferred days that were sunny and mild, and temperate nights, and so that is what we had. Regardless of season."

Isilmei's expression had taken on a wistful look as she listened to Orophin describe their home. "It only rained at night, and always gently," she said. "I had never experienced a thunderstorm until I moved to Gondor." Her pretty face twisted into a scowl. "And I admit that I would be perfectly content if I never experienced another one."

"Amazing," Míril said. "I wish I had been able to visit the Golden Wood while you both lived there. It sounds like something out of a song."

Orophin allowed himself to become lost in his memories as he contemplated all that was surely changed since Lady Galadriel sailed and Lord Celeborn moved to Imladris.

Isilmei's wistful voice disrupted his thoughts as she turned away from the falls to look back at him. "Do you think they have thunderstorms in Lorien now, Orophin?"

"I do not know," he answered with a shrug of one shoulder. "I suppose we will find out when we arrive."

With a deep sigh, Isilmei turned her troubled gaze back toward the falls. "I confess I do not wish to go there."

Legolas covered her shoulder with his hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "It may be different," he said gently, "but you still have friends there."

"I know," she said with a nod, "and I tell myself to focus on those I look forward to seeing again instead of everything that has changed. Yet the thought of all those changes troubles me." Isilmei rolled to her stomach to meet Orophin's gaze fully. "Do you remember Lady Pigeneth? She was one of Grandmother's handmaidens and a friend of Rumil's?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"She and I exchange letters. She says that some of the trees are failing, in spite of the foresters' best efforts." Sadness clouded her blue eyes at the same time it tugged at Orophin's spirit.

In fact, her tone was so distressed that Orophin wanted to hug her. He knew that neither of their companions could understand how Isilmei felt quite as well as he could in this instance, for neither of their homelands had changed as dramatically as Lothlorien in the years since war's end.

"Trees do not live forever, Isil," Legolas said gently as he rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"The trees of the Golden Wood do," she said with an insistent shake of her head as she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Or, they used to before Grandmother left them behind."

Orophin nodded his agreement as Legolas briefly met his gaze.

"I know it will be different, and some of it will be hard for you, but there is still beauty to be found in Lorien," Legolas told her. "We will find it together. And if you become sad during our stay there, you will have friends around you who will be happy to lift your spirits."

"Indeed," Orophin said as he smiled warmly at Isilmei and gave her a little wink. "We will make a point of identifying those things which are still bright and beautiful in our homeland. And those will be the things we choose to remember most."

With another sigh and a determined nod, Isilmei propped herself up on one elbow, her movement bringing her even closer to Legolas who was still bent forward to rub her back. She lifted her wine and held it out toward Orophin and Míril. "To friendship."

Legolas surrounded Isilmei with his arm as he brought his own goblet forward to tap it against hers. He smiled as she leaned into his chest. "And to the beauty there is to be found in this world." He lowered his chin to rest it lightly upon her shoulder as he spoke.

Orophin had no doubt that Legolas referred to more than the beauty of the forest, but refrained from comment. He helped his betrothed to a sitting position and handed her a goblet before lifting his own beverage. "To friendship and beauty," they said together.

The soft clink of their toast rang across their small clearing. As the four companions raised their wine to their lips, Orophin exchanged a quick glance with his beloved and could tell they were thinking the same thought. If he were of the wagering sort, Orophin thought, he would lay odds that the Elves of Ithilien would soon have more than one marriage to celebrate.

TBC…


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25: Mounting Frustrations and Lingering Worries**

_Two months later…_

The days passed in a whirlwind from the time Legolas's travelling party arrived in Imladris. Isilmei was amazed at all that had been accomplished in those busy weeks. Legolas had secured promises from more than fifty Elves of Imladris to relocate to Ithilien, and had spent nearly every waking moment helping his new followers make plans for the move.

Isilmei helped however she could, spending a good portion of her time in the healing wing or the library studying Lord Elrond's collection of work on herbal lore and the treatment of various injuries. With the twins' blessing she had carefully preserved seeds from Lord Elrond's herb garden that, together with those she brought from Minas Tirith, would become the foundation of Ithilien's healing garden.

The remainder of her time had been spent with her grandfather, the twins, or with Orophin and his lovely intended. Isilmei cherished the memories of time spent with her grandfather, basking in his solid, comforting presence. In Míril, Isilmei happily found a kindred spirit, and Rumil had quickly become a trusted friend. There had been one long, lovely luncheon shared with Míril, Orophin, and Legolas, but other than that she had hardly seen the prince except at mealtime as their respective duties kept them both busy.

In spite of her joy at being reunited with her grandfather and the happiness found in friendships both new and old, she discovered that she missed the prince's company and the closeness that had grown between them during his visits to Minas Tirith. And she most definitely missed the sweet heat of his kisses.

She knew instinctively that she had few remaining opportunities to spend time with her grandfather before he sailed into the West, and so she was loath to leave his side. In spite of her hidden longing to be in Legolas's presence, she asked if he would mind terribly if she stayed behind while he finished his tour through the Elven realms so that she could have more time with her beloved grandfather. Legolas's response surprised her – a look of sorrow and a sincere plea for her to accompany him on the rest of his journey. He told her that he needed her to be with him in Mithlond, though he hedged when she asked him to explain himself, instead appealing to her expressed curiosity to see more of Middle Earth. She found it impossible to deny him when he looked at her with such longing and soft hope in his expressive eyes and put aside her own desire to remain at her grandfather's side.

The main shadow upon their sojourn in Imladris came in the form of Legolas's father. King Thranduil was an intimidating presence to Isilmei. He seemed to follow her with his eyes whenever they were in the same room, and she could not help feeling that he was evaluating her for some unknown reason. Her grandfather told her not to worry when she asked him about it; saying that the king had long ago adopted a frown that was now permanently etched into his features. She had smiled at her grandfather's jest but could not shake the feeling that the king appraised her as though judging a prospective saddle horse for angle of fetlock and girth of ribcage. Oddly enough, she caught her grandfather studying Legolas in much the same way at first, but the prince's typical charm and level-headed nature quickly won over the venerable Elven lord. By the end of their visit the two ellyn spoke to one another as old friends. Would that she had been able to relax around the unyielding king!

She watched Legolas as he spoke with small crowds when the household gathered in the Hall of Fire each evening for entertainment and conversation. He genuinely cared about the needs and desires of others, and took time to get to know each Elf who decided to join his colony. It was not enough for him to know their names; he wanted to know their likes and dislikes, dreams and concerns. In that way Legolas reminded Isilmei a bit of a younger version of her grandfather, for when she was little Lord Celeborn had prided himself on knowing each and every individual they met as they walked through Caras Galadhon and could speak knowledgeably about them all. He had told her that in order for a ruler to lead his or her people effectively, it was necessary to know what was in their best interests. And in order to do that, one must know the people. Legolas seemed to understand that concept instinctively, and struck a delicate balance between authority and affable approachability that Isilmei admired.

She supposed that the prince's absence from her side was a foreshadowing of things to come, as he would have many important duties to attend to once they reached Ithilien. Though disappointed at first, Isilmei decided that it was probably for the best, for she was not sure that it was such a good idea for her to indulge in flights of fancy as much as she had been during their last weeks in Minas Tirith. She was not even sure what she would do or say should Legolas begin to return her interest in earnest, and found herself caught between seeking his attention and avoiding it by turns. As responsibilities kept them apart, she had grown terribly shy around the prince, which made her miss even more their comfortable friendship in Gondor.

Isilmei was uneasy among Legolas's traveling party by the time they left Imladris, for Legolas had come to confuse her. He seemed to desire her company, yet had become so enmeshed in his responsibilities that he barely seemed to notice her. He escorted her to both breakfast and dinner each day, and there were times when she caught him looking at her with heat in his eyes sufficient to make her blush and glance quickly away lest her grandfather or King Thranduil take notice. But for the majority of their time in the Last Homely House, he had simply been too busy, too absorbed in his duties and in getting to know his new subjects to spend time with her. She was both surprised and worried when she realized that she acutely missed those quiet moments in Minas Tirith when she had enjoyed his undivided attention.

And so it was by the time the prince's party was ready to depart Imladris for Eryn Lasgalen. Míril – whose father was one of the most accomplished ambassadors of Imladris and in possession of considerable diplomatic skills herself – decided that she no longer wished to wait for Orophin to return to her and joined the traveling party. Rumil also chose to take to the road as soon as he decided that he would move to Ithilien. Legolas welcomed both new companions to his party, which Isilmei suspected he did partly as a favor to her. In truth, the members of his honor guard had been nothing but courteous to her between Minas Tirith and Imladris, but it was wonderful to enjoy the company of another female out on the road. An easy camaraderie developed among the ten Elves making their way east between the hidden valley and the mighty forest.

They were ahead of schedule by the time they reached the borders of Eryn Lasgalen via the Old Forest Road, and so Legolas decided that they would take advantage of the opportunity to rest themselves and their mounts by stopping early near a wide, quiet lake. The banks of the lake were heavily wooded and dotted with large boulders that stood as silent sentinels beside still, deep waters.

The party had become so efficient in their making and breaking of camp that the chores were completed and a cheery cook fire burned well before sunset. It was not Isilmei's turn to cook, so she decided to spend a few quiet moments alone with her thoughts beside the lake. She dug a small piece of charcoal and her sketch pad out of her traveling pack and headed for the water's edge.

Perching herself upon a large, lichen-covered boulder, Isilmei faced the setting sun and drank in what warmth was offered by the pale beams slanting across still waters. She judged that she was in the perfect position to capture the moment the sun slid silently behind tall fir trees on the far side of the lake. While she waited she enjoyed the lake's serenity and flipped back through old drawings looking for faults.

"You should not stray too far from camp, love." The quiet voice behind her brought a smile to her face even before she turned her head to cast a shy glance over her shoulder.

"I can hear Turwaithion and I can see the top of Rumil's head through that break in the trees there," she told him.

Without further comment Legolas deftly vaulted onto her boulder and sat down beside her. He bent his knees before him and encircled them with his arms as he peeked at her sketch pad. "What does your artist's eye see that needs capturing?"

"I am waiting for sunset," she said as she smiled at his unabashed nosiness. "In the meantime, I am picking the nits of old drawings."

Legolas squinted at the image of a pair of strong male hands clasped together over the hilt of a sword. "Whose hands are those?"

"Aragorn's."

"Ah, yes. I should have recognized that ring." She watched as his gaze traveled to a smaller pair of hands next to the first. "Are those Eldarion's?"

"Yes," she nodded approvingly. "And these are his naneth's."

"And these?"

She smiled fondly at the image. "Grandfather's."

"And to whom do those belong?" He pointed at the pair of hands she had been studying when he joined her.

She laughed. "You. Do you not recognize your own hands?"

"I suppose I did not realize you had paid such close attention to them." He shook his head as he raised his eyes to meet hers. "I know you have completed portraits of the entire family, but I did not know you were so intrigued by one particular feature."

"Have you never studied someone's hands?" She asked. When he shook his head she prompted, "Not even your own?"

A bemused frown distorted his handsome features as he turned his gaze toward the water. "Why would I do that?"

"One can learn a lot about an individual by studying his or her hands," she replied as she arched a brow in silent challenge for him to disagree with her.

"Like what?"

She could tell by the slight smirk he wore that he did not believe her, but he was at least willing to indulge her. With a roll of her eyes she put down her sketchpad and charcoal and held out her hands with palms up.

After the slightest hesitation he turned so that he could place his hands into hers. With a smile she dropped her gaze from his eyes to study his hands. "Like…the fact that you are strong. And you are capable." She turned them over and traced a line of calluses with her index finger. "You are an exceptional archer, of course, which is revealed through these marks here. These show that you are also skilled with a blade. And these show that you have spent many hours on horseback. And then…hmm…" She leaned over to peer more closely at his skin before turning his hands back over again and running her fingertips over the ends of his fingers and across the short nails. There were marks there, very faint, but visible, that she had not noticed before. How had she managed to miss them in all the times she had placed her hand within his? "You also have another skill, one which you have not exercised in some time." Raising her eyes to meet his gaze once more, she made her best guess. "Carpentry?"

His eyes were incredulous. "However can you tell that by looking at my hands?"

"You have an artisan's hands," she said, tremendously pleased that her guess had been correct. "There is strength there, but also grace and dexterity uncommon even among our kind." She had continued to caress his skin as she spoke simply because she enjoyed the feel of his skin beneath hers. When she raised her eyes back up to his she smiled at the surprised look on his face. "Am I wrong?"

"No," he said as bashfulness crept into his expression as he sat up straight and folded his hands into his lap. "Suddenly I feel exposed."

"Well," she said with a gentle smile, "if it would make you feel better you may return the favor." She held out her hands to him with her palms facing skyward. "What can you tell about me?'

This time he did not hesitate as he reached out and took her hands in both of his. He touched her softly, almost reverently. Warmth began to coil low in her belly at the sensations he drew from her as he stroked her palms and fingers.

He was quiet for a long moment as she watched him caress her palms with his thumbs. "I can tell that you are soft, and sweet." His voice was warm and deep when he spoke and she felt the urge to shiver with pleasure.

"You cannot judge the sweetness of my character by looking at my hands," she objected as she sought to maintain control of her pulse.

"Shhh," he said. "You have had your turn." His voice grew in confidence as he continued his assessment. "Your hands know how to soothe a child back to peaceful slumber after a bad dream, and how to prepare an excellent meal even when out on the trail. They can heal a hurt and provide comfort to heal the spirit as well." His fingers found the callus on the inside of her left middle finger as she watched, mesmerized by the sight and sensation of his skin upon hers. "You spend much time writing and drawing." Her nod was enthusiastic and encouraging when he briefly met her eyes. Looking down once more he gently squeezed the tip of one finger. "Did you harm yourself with a needle?"

She was impressed and felt her eyebrows rise in surprise at the keenness of his observation. "Yesterday. I was helping Míril mend Orophin's cloak when Rumil and Othanar started telling jokes. The needle slipped when I laughed at them."

"You have the hands of a fine lady," he said softly brushing a kiss to her palm.

Her gasp was involuntary when she felt his soft warm lips against her sensitive skin, his breath against her wrist. After weeks during which he had seemed too busy to notice her presence, his kiss caught her off guard. "Legolas…"

His lips moved from her palm to her wrist, and his gaze rose to meet hers as he pressed a lingering kiss against her fluttering pulse. Hunger, desire, inescapable warmth all pooled in his eyes which had gone soft and warm like velvet on a winter's day. He held her gaze for a long moment and she felt pinned by his stare, pierced through with a jolt of lightning that she felt deep in her tummy.

In spite of the confusion he was stirring within her, she leaned in as he sat up because the need to be close to him was too powerful to deny. Her lips met his eagerly as he let go of her hands to slip his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck while his other hand slid behind her back. Her hands found the front of his tunic, one of them sliding up to rest at the base of his throat.

When the kiss ended, he held her close and she breathed in his nearness. _'I was right. I_ _have_ _missed his kisses,'_ she thought as a feeling of warmth and wellbeing spread throughout her body. She pressed her forehead into the curve of his neck as his arms surrounded her and for a long quiet moment, she listened to the whisper of pine needles rustled by a breeze and felt his pulse against her skin.

"Isil, there is something I have wanted to tell you for some time, but I was unsure of the proper way to do so. I think now that I have spoken to your…"

It was the sudden racing of his pulse that let her know what was coming. And just as suddenly, her serenity shattered as she realized the answer to the question she had silently posed to herself just moments before he appeared. She could not bear the words she was sure he was about to say. She did not want _anything_ heavy or momentous to spoil the easy flirtation between the two of them, the deep, affectionate friendship she felt for him. It was all too much, too quick. She pushed herself back by pressing on his chest and raised pleading eyes to his. "No. Please do not."

His expression fell, causing a deep self-loathing to sour her stomach. "Isil, I…"

"Not _yet_, Legolas, please." All she could think of in that moment was the damage she had caused to another who had said too much too quickly. She desperately did not want to hurt Legolas, but neither did she want to feel the overwhelming sense of pressure and expectation that she could see so plainly in his eyes. "_Please_ be patient with me for a time longer."

He surprised her then by hauling her against his frame with such force that he dragged her bodily across the boulder until she sat in his lap. He surrounded her with his arms and his body and took her lips fiercely until she could no longer breathe. He supported her with one arm around her back as his free hand slid down from her waist to her hip and then back up again, grazing her chest before sliding up over her collar bone and into the hair beneath her ear as she clutched him tightly against her body.

She shuddered at the pleasure his fingers gave her even as tears pricked her eyelids and she struggled for control of her body and her emotions. It was so easy for him to overwhelm her with a touch, a kiss. Why could he not see that she was deathly afraid of being so overpowered, of losing control of her heart? "What are you trying to do to me?" She could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke, and knew that he could as well.

His arms turned to mithril around her as his eyes flashed with intensity and frustration. His own breathing was as ragged as hers as he struggled to control himself. "I want you to admit that the attraction between us is _real_. That you feel it too."

"It is real." She clutched at the front of his tunic as she searched his face for some assurance that things would return to normal between them. She found none. "You can see that I feel it."

Legolas's expression was tortured as he continued to hold her. "Then _why_ do you fight it so? Why do you push me away? Even before we left Imladris, you began building a wall between us. _Why_?"

A surprised, brittle laugh escaped her before she could contain it. "Fear, of course."

His hands tightened as he clutched her. "Fear of _what_, Isil? Help me understand."

She felt as though she were drowning. "Fear that if I let myself lov…" She gasped in a breath, shutting her eyes tightly as she struggled for control. Her eyes flew wide as she looked up to see if he had caught her near-admission, and saw the warm, triumphant glow that told her he clearly had. She did not know if she had just made things better, or worse, between them. "That if I let myself care about you in the way that I think I could, you will leave me." She dropped her gaze and ducked her chin so that she could not see the vortex of emotion in his eyes that threatened to pull her under. "I am not strong enough to bear that."

He leaned back with a deep sigh but did not unhand her. To her surprise, he gathered her against his chest and cradled her securely for a long moment. Neither of them spoke as he repeatedly pressed his lips to her temple. She had nearly regained her composure when he gently raised her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes. There was a great deal of certainty in his expression and his softly whispered words. "I will never leave you. Someday, you will believe me, and I will be here when you do."

She barely had time to pull in a breath before he kissed her. Still holding her chin in his hand, he crushed his lips against hers with such force that she felt as though he wanted to devour her with his kiss. She was at war with herself in that moment, for part of her wanted to return his passion with her own, while another part could not resist her old urge to hold on to things as she knew them – to preserve those things that she counted on for her happiness. For a few heartbeats she allowed herself the selfish pleasure of reveling in his heat and his passion, but she pulled back when she realized that she was not able to give him that for which he asked. "Stop. I am not ready," she finally managed to say as she raised a hand between them and pushed against his chest. "I _wish_ I were, but I am not."

He stiffened, setting her upright once more and putting her off his lap before moving just far enough away to be out of arm's reach. She missed him immediately. "Of course," he said rigidly. "I should not have pressed."

Isilmei suddenly felt like she was about to lose him in spite of the promise he had just made, and wanted to weep. She raised a hand to try to draw him back, but was rebuffed when he leapt lightly to his feet and stepped away from the boulder. "Legolas, I…"

"The sun is setting. I shall leave you to your drawing." The ellon speaking those words barely resembled the Legolas she had come to know. The features were the same, but the light and warmth that were so much a part of him had vanished. In their place was a cold mask that looked too much like the one his father wore. She could not bear to look at the severity she saw in his expression and turned her eyes back to the water as she struggled to hold in the tears welling behind her lashes. After a long silence during which she fought to control her breathing, she heard his voice, soft and dangerous and only barely controlled, from the edge of the woods. "You should not toy with my affections so."

Before she could turn he was gone, and drawing was suddenly the last thing she felt like doing. He left her stunned – by the passion of his embrace, the vortex of conflicting emotions he stirred within her, the deep longing so clear in his eyes, the pain in his expression at her rejection, the confusion of his promise never to leave her which was followed by his abrupt departure from her side. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her arms around them, fighting to still the trembling in her hands and her worries that she had just made a terrible mistake.

TBC…


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26: Hidden Songs and Dreams Revealed**

(_Author's_ _Note_: For my darling Diana, in memory of an utterly fabulous Charleston trip. Luvs ya!)

_A week later…_

Without realizing what he was doing, Rumil began to follow the sound of the music. It was faint, carried on a crisp breeze whispering softly through evergreen needles over a forest floor carpeted with dormant moss and withered fern fronds.

He glanced at his brother to see if he was paying attention to the music as well, but Orophin seemed entranced by the woods themselves. It had been two days since they arrived in the land of Lord Legolas's birth, and this was the first time that the Galadhrim brothers had opportunity to wander among the trees and learn the ways of the primeval forest. It was vastly different from their beloved Lorien, for here the trees grew thicker, the needles and leaves denser, coming together high overhead to block out most of the sun's light. A beautiful forest, to be sure, but Rumil could see how the realm had come by the moniker "Mirkwood" during darker days. It would take very little shadow to make this thick forest a murky, forbidding place indeed.

Rumil paused as he heard another breath of song drift past his ears. The music was unfamiliar to him, so he did not know the story it told, but the emotion was clear – softly mournful, full of longing, yet it carried a note of quiet resolution and indefatigable hope. A song of loss and renewal. The mood of the music fit this forest perfectly and propelled him forward to discover its source.

When he glanced at his brother again, he saw that Orophin was studying him with speculative eyes. "You hear it too?" his brother asked.

A surge of relief coursed through Rumil, prompting a slightly nervous laugh. "I thought I was the only one hearing it, and was beginning to wonder whether or not I was mad," he admitted.

"The subject of your sanity, or lack thereof, is a separate matter entirely," Orophin told him with a sly smile.

He rolled his eyes and chose to express his opinion of Orophin's sense of humor through application of an indelicate snort. As Orophin pulled in a breath to fuel his next retort, another strain of the haunting tune reached their ears. Both brothers stopped to listen. Rumil pointed to a trail branching off to their right. "This way."

His eldest brother nodded and together they stepped silently down the side path. The trail twisted and wove its way through close-growing evergreens before finally terminating in a small glade. Both brothers stopped in their tracks at the sight before them.

The trees parted as though by design to create a small sun-bathed meadow. Tall beech trees, their naked branches reaching toward the sky, interspersed the numerous evergreens on the far side of the lawn, but it was the lone elleth swaying gently to the music of her flute that captured their attention.

She was the most breath-taking creation Rumil had ever seen, more beautiful to him than even the glowing Lady of the Golden Wood. Her hair was as dark and lustrous as a raven's wing, shot through with strands of deep chestnut and rich caramel. When her eyes met his, he saw that they were almond-shaped and nearly amber in color. Flecks of deep green contrasted the amber and were complimented by the saturated green of her gown. She was tiny for an elleth, much shorter than the other females he knew. A pixie of the forest, whose full lips curved upward in an inviting smile as she watched them approach.

She lowered her flute and extended an arm to bid them enter her meadow. "Good day to you both," she said softly. "Welcome to the Woodland Realm."

The rich tones of her voice were carried to his ears on the breeze and it was as though he could feel her words hum along his skin. Rumil's feet rooted to the spot. His lips froze to one another. All he could feel was the pounding of his heart inside his chest. He had never been immediately captivated by an elleth before, but he found that he could not take his eyes off of her as she stood there and watched them expectantly. Beside him, his brother snickered.

The sound of Orophin's amusement jolted Rumil from his reverie. When he looked at his brother, he found Orophin smiling at him in an all-too-knowing way that Rumil was sure he would come to regret later.

"Well, go on," Orophin whispered fiercely. "She is not looking at _me_. Go talk to her, little brother."

"Orophin, I…"

"Shoo. I will meet you back in our quarters, where I shall expect a full and detailed report." As he turned to go, Orophin suddenly paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Ai, and do remember to ask her for her name. Perhaps you will have the pleasure of dancing with her after supper tonight."

As he watched his older brother walk away, Rumil heard warm, throaty feminine laughter over his shoulder. When he turned back to the clearing, she was gone.

Only the faint drifting of pine needles set in motion by her passage gave any indication that the elleth had been more than a wisp of his imagination. He had no idea where he was going, but he found that for the moment, he did not care where she led him as he jogged across the clearing and followed after her.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Several days later…_

Burning torches cast pools of amber light in regular intervals down the long corridor. Isilmei found the stone keep surprisingly cozy, not at all cold and threatening as she had imagined; but still, she missed being able to see the sky. She knew it was night only because of the regular routine maintained by the Woodland Elves.

More than an hour of tossing and turning had failed to yield slumber, so Isilmei rose from her bed hoping that a walk might relax her. She felt…itchy, somehow anxious since their party arrived at the palace. Everywhere she looked, she imagined she saw traces of Legolas – things and customs that made him the ellon he was. It was silly, she supposed, but she could not stop herself from thinking about him, especially here in the heart of his boyhood home. There had been very little interaction between them since their complicated encounter by the lake, and even though she knew she was the one maintaining the distance between them, she missed him.

Life in Eryn Lasgalen was more structured, and much more dependent upon protocol and formality than she was accustomed to; but the outside members of their party were well prepared for this visit by one of the ellyn in Legolas's escort. Camaenor was the son of Baingollon, the king's seneschal. While the party traveled from Imladris to Eryn Lasgalen, Camaenor devoted a portion of each evening to instructing the outsiders on the ways of the Woodland court. Isilmei was grateful for his tutelage, for it had already spared her a number of embarrassing moments.

Her current state of dress, for example, would have been considered unusual but not egregiously scandalous in Lorien, but was entirely out of bounds for Woodland society. She wore a simple tunic and leggings – considered standard sleeping attire on the trail, but hardly the expected garb for an elleth of standing at court. Yet Isilmei had discovered that her current ensemble was quite comfortable for sleeping and at bedtime often chose such apparel over the long gowns which tended to entangle her legs during the night.

Her restless footsteps brought her to the palace library. Though not as extensive as the collection at Imladris, King Thranduil had amassed enough books, scrolls, and maps to fill a huge room. A large hearth which was tended throughout both day and night provided illumination and a cozy place for reading. Isilmei had quickly developed the habit of coming by at least once per day for she found the library to be one of her favorite destinations within the fortress. It was an especially nice place to visit during a sleepless night when reading provided much needed distraction from her jumbled thoughts.

As she entered the room, a slim figure turned to regard her. Isilmei stifled a gasp of surprise and sought to conceal herself behind a column of stone. She was about to turn and leave until the individual spoke.

"Is that you, Isilmei?"

Relief flooded her veins when she recognized the voice. "Rumil."

"Do not feel shy," he encouraged as he waved a hand to beckon her closer to the hearth. "There is plenty of room for another, and I promise not to tattle about your appalling lack of courtly dress."

Isilmei rolled her eyes at him as a smile stretched her mouth. She had discovered to her delight that Rumil's sense of humor was crisp like a dry white wine, and his keen eyes missed very little of the world around him. She was glad to happen upon his company for she was sure he would divert her attention from her restless wanderings. As she took a seat beside him she asked, "What are you doing here so late?"

One dark brow slanted toward his hairline. "I could ask you the same question."

"Could you not sleep?"

"I have not yet tried," he said with a grin that suggested there was a very specific reason he was up so late. "You?"

"I have tried since shortly after supper," she sighed, "yet have had no luck. Frustration eventually led my feet into the hallway."

A brief moment of companionable silence enveloped them as Rumil's eyes drifted about the neatly organized stacks. "I confess," he said softly, "I am waiting to meet someone."

Her curiosity was instantly peaked by the dreamy look that washed over his face. "Hmm…judging by your expression it must a female someone. Just what are you up to, Rumil?"

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Genuine curiosity lit his eyes, but what caught her attention was the delirious smile, the softening of his expression that she had never before seen on this particular ellon's face. It was a most incongruous experience.

"Well," she frowned as she attempted to look past his ridiculous expression and answer his question seriously, "I have never experienced it myself, but…yes, I suppose I do." Isilmei was quick to notice the widening of Rumil's smile as he listened to her answer. "I have heard that it has happened to others. Grandmother told me once that she fell in love with Grandfather upon first sight. Though, she admitted that she glimpsed him in a vision before she met him in person, so perhaps they are not a true example of the phenomenon." The frown line that creased her forehead deepened as Rumil chuckled softly in response.

"I never would have imagined it would happen to _me_," he said with glee. "And yet it has!"

Isilmei's jaw dropped open as one hand rose to clutch her friend's forearm. "Rumil! Tell me everything!"

"Her name is Durneth," he gushed, his voice caressing the name as it left his lips. "She is Camaenor's younger sister. Orophin and I were exploring the woods several days ago and happened upon her as she played music in the forest. I…from the first moment my eyes fell upon her fair face, I felt…like I had forgotten how to breathe. As though everything that happened to me before was simply preparation for that moment. It is the most disconcerting feeling I can imagine."

Isilmei found herself strangely touched by his words and the joy glowing from within his gray eyes. Something about the change his newfound love worked in him tugged at a tender place within her heart, even as she reeled from her amazement that the lovestruck ellon sitting beside her was the same one whose heartbroken, embittered visage would forever be burned into her mind. Rumil was most definitely a creature of strong passions. "I would not have pegged you as such a romantic, my friend," she said quietly.

"Neither would I!" he said with a laugh. "As I looked at her I forgot the power of speech, and surely would have stood rooted to that spot until the world was unmade if not for Orophin pushing me to go and talk to her. I turned to watch him go, and when I turned back to her, she was gone."

Isilmei gasped, disappointed that so soon after making such an uplifting discovery, his hopes may have been dashed. "What did you do?"

"I followed her. And finally I caught up with her. She laughed at me, but there was such kindness in her eyes, such good humor, that I found myself laughing along with her. I have never laughed so heartily since I was an elfling."

"I think the sound of your laughter quite a nice sound," Isilmei smiled, deciding that she was quite happy to be swept along in the jaunty pace of his tale.

"You shall hear more of it, for we started to talk, and ask each other questions, and quickly we realized that neither of us had any desire to leave the other's company ever again." He grinned as he reached forward and squeezed her hand. "Yes, I realize that I sound like a maniac. I have gone mad."

Isilmei could not restrain a bright burst of laughter. Shaking her head, she patted his hand reassuringly. "No, you sound like one who has fallen in love and feels compelled to be with his sweetheart above all others."

"I am!" He sounded tremendously pleased with himself. "And quite happily so. I could sing her praises for the rest of my life."

"Rumil! You are giddy. I never would have imagined seeing you like this." She narrowed her eyes at him in teasing speculation. "Have you been partaking from the King's wine cellar?"

He was unconcerned by her accusation. "I want to climb to the top of this mountain and shout my love for her across all the lands of Arda. It is the most unusual feeling."

Isilmei felt a well of bittersweet tears rise in her throat, but pushed them down. "You have found your happiness, it seems," she said softly as she squeezed his hand. "I am delighted for you."

His ears must be as sharp as his eyes, she realized, as his mood shifted and abruptly subdued. Rumil studied her through thoughtful eyes, making her fidget. "Have you admitted to yourself yet that you have found your happiness as well?"

She shook her head in confusion. "What?"

One corner of Rumil's mouth turned downward in what almost seemed to be disappointment. His grip on her hands tightened as though he knew his next words would propel her away from him and she felt the preemptive urge to flee in response. "Anyone with eyes can see how much Lord Legolas loves you," he said softly. "And anyone who knows you can see that you love him in return. Yet you hide your heart away from him. Why?"

Isilmei was shocked by his words. In Imladris she and Rumil agreed that their friendship would be based upon utter honesty no matter the circumstance, but his simple assessment of the situation between herself and the Woodland prince – which seemed anything but simple and straightforward to Isilmei – caught her completely unawares. "Rumil, I…I do not know what to say…"

"Yes you do." His gaze was understanding and steady, while his grip on her hands tightened a little more when she tried to withdraw from him. "Be honest with me."

Realizing that he was not going to let her go until she answered his question to his satisfaction, and also that he was offering a willing ear, she struggled to sort through her tangled emotions. "It is complicated," she confessed. "I care about him very much. I value his friendship, and I trust him. I want to be in his company, and tell him about things that make me happy as well as those that make me sad. He is my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night."

"That sounds like love to me," Rumil said with a soft smile. His fingers loosened upon hers just enough to ease the pressure, but not enough to let her get away. "I appreciate the symptoms of this delightful malady somewhat more than I used to, you know."

Her lips lifted in a rueful grin as she shook her head at him. "It also sounds like a deep and abiding friendship, which I most certainly feel for our lord. I just…"

"What frightens you?"

For the second time that night his insight stopped her in her tracks. "That obvious am I?" Her gaze dropped away from his as she admitted, "Legolas asked me the same question recently."

"Was this when you fought by the lake?"

Her eyes snapped back to his face. She had thought that their passionate encounter was a secret shared only by the two of them, but apparently not. "We did not fight!"

"_Something_ happened between you." Rumil let go of one of her hands to lift her chin when she lowered her eyes to her lap. "He frightened you, which is why I stepped between the two of you when he approached you later that evening. I did not know the nature of the issue; but I knew that you needed support. There was a shadow on both your spirits for the remainder of the journey. My brother and Míril and I all noticed it. And given the long-established ties between our lord and some of the others in our party, I doubt we three are the only ones aware of the problem."

She groaned and yanked her hands free from his grip to bury her face in her palms.

"What is it that frightens you so and keeps you from joy?" His voice was gentle but persistent.

"Not knowing what will happen in the future," she finally said as her hands fell away from her face. "Uncertainty of whether or not I can make him truly happy." She was unsure how Rumil would respond to the rest of what was in her heart, but with a gulp she reminded herself of their pledge to be honest with one another and forged ahead. "Worrying that if I love another, I will be…unfaithful or somehow disrespectful of one I loved very much before. One who loved me so sweetly." She reached for Rumil's hand again even as he reached for hers. The warm strength of his fingers was reassuring. "I have accepted his loss and what cannot be…and after much effort I have learned to let him go, but I do not wish to dishonor Haldir's memory."

The room was silent except for the gently crackling fire as each of them sat absorbed in thought for a long moment. When she glanced at him furtively to gauge his reaction, she found Rumil shaking his head.

"Nonsense," he said softly.

Isilmei felt her hackles rise immediately. "Excuse me? I…"

"Nonsense," he repeated, his voice both kind and determined. It was a tone so much like Haldir's – one with which she was entirely familiar, and she was certain Rumil had also been on the receiving end of it many times. "And I will explain why if you will but give me the opportunity."

She drew in a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it out and willing her flash of anger into submission. Finally, she nodded to indicate she was listening.

Rumil's expression was thoughtful as he spoke. "My brother was driven. He set goals for himself and went about achieving them doggedly and tenaciously."

Isilmei nodded in agreement.

"In most things, Haldir and I had the same goals. Our similar drives and aspirations were part of what made us so close. In fact there was only one goal of his that I did not share." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Me." Her voice was small. Images from those intense weeks in Lorien flashed through her mind.

"You. I could not understand the way that he loved you, because I had never harbored that kind of love in my own heart. I did not see the need for it or the importance of it because I had never experienced it." His eyes softened and a ghost of a smile drifted across his mouth. "But the last few days have opened up my eyes in ways that I never would have dreamt possible. I understand my brother better now than I ever did before."

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand to indicate her joy in his happiness even as the tears rising in her throat choked off her voice.

"If you had taken Legolas by the hand and walked up to my brother and announced your intention to take the prince as your mate, Haldir would have been crushed. But he would have smiled, and congratulated you, and sent you off with his blessing…"

"I change my mind," Isilmei said as tears sprang to her eyes. "You are quite mad!"

"…because he loved you," Rumil continued, ignoring her interruption. "And he desired your happiness above even his own. I thought his love for you made him weak; but now I understand what strength my brother possessed."

Her tears began to slip down her cheeks in spite of her best effort to rein them in. "Ai, Rumil…"

"I do not tell you this to make you weep, sweet sister. I tell you this to preface a very simple question: Does Legolas make you happy?"

When she realized that there was, in fact, a very simple answer to his question, she smiled through her tears as she squeezed his hand. "Yes."

The softness in Rumil's eyes was encouraging when he asked, "Do you love him?"

"Yes." Somehow, in spite of her complex emotions, she felt better for finally admitting the truth of her feelings. It was somehow freeing to admit her feelings out loud.

"Then for what on Arda are you waiting?" Rumil asked with a shake of his head. "Durneth has made me realize that sometimes, we must reach out and seize the happiness that the Valar have seen fit to put upon our path. To reject their gift would be an affront to their grace."

"Do you truly believe that?" she asked. _'Could it really be so simple?'_

"I do. Now, go to your love while I sit here and wait for mine," Rumil said as he patted her knee affectionately. His tone dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and a glint of humor lit his eyes as he said, "We have yet to determine how best to persuade her father to bless our intentions to wed. He, it seems, has never experienced love at first sight either."

Isilmei chuckled as she wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. "I would imagine that Lord Baingollon would make an intimidating spouse-father indeed. I do not envy you, brother."

"He is," Rumil replied with a quirk of one eyebrow, "but not more so than King Thranduil. Between the two of us, I think my route might be the easier one."

She scoffed as she kissed him on the cheek. "For luck!"

As Isilmei retreated from the garden, butterflies unsettled her stomach. Somehow, Rumil's blessing was the one she needed in this situation, and as she thought further she realized that she agreed with him. Arwen's voice floated through Isilmei's mind as she made her way hastily through the halls, asserting that time was more precious than the Elves tended to realize. Isilmei knew that she was about to make a perilous gamble, for Legolas would be well within his rights to reject her after their lakeside debacle and the frigid awkwardness which followed. But she supposed it was a test of sorts. If he still cared for her after all her hesitancy and foolhardiness, then it was surely meant to be. With a gulp and a silent prayer to the Valar for guidance, she raised her hand to knock on his chamber door.

TBC…


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27: Fires of Hearth and Soul**

(_Author's Note_: Please pardon me while I vent for a moment: Within the past few days, an author whose work I very much admire had a story deleted from this site without warning of any kind because it had (_apparently_, for no explanation was offered) been reported as exceeding its posted rating. I've read the ratings – several times in fact – and have made a deliberate effort to stay within the posted guidelines, but the experience of this other author brings home to me the fact that the system is **highly subjective**. I have read stories on this site that, frankly, qualified as "smut," yet have existed on this site for a year or more without incident. I do not understand why this other author – whose story did not contain any sort of graphic detail – was deemed "unacceptable" when many, many stories that carry the same rating and are a lot more explicit in nature are "okay." Nor do I understand why her story was deleted without warning, without her being given any time at all to rectify her alleged errors before the story was deleted. When the story was eliminated – I think it should be noted – more than 500 reviews were deleted as well (and I don't know how many favorites and follows too). The whole thing seems terrifically unfair. That being said, it doesn't really matter whether or not the system makes sense to me because I don't own this site. If I want to play in this particular sandbox, then I need to live within the guidelines, even if the guidelines aren't clear. In the interests of erring on the side of caution, I've scaled this and other chapters (specifically chapters 9, 14, 19, 21, 25, 27, and 30) way back from their initial form. I have decided that I'll post the original form of this story on a different site that allows more mature content after it's been posted here in its entirety.)

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A low fire snapped and crackled happily in the hearth, casting a cozy glow about his bedchamber. Legolas watched the flames' silhouettes dance on the rocky walls of his bower, reminiscing about youthful adventures he shared with his brother and friends inside his father's stone fortress. This keep buried deep within the heart of the mountain had been his home for most of his life, and yet by now he had been so long away that the palace no longer _felt_ like home.

As he watched the blaze he realized that he missed having a fireplace in his chamber, for he had not seen that particular feature in any other Elven realm except for Lord Elrond's – now Lord Celeborn's – private suite in Imladris. The mountain pulled heat away from any source, which meant that many of the Woodland people chose to include fireplaces in their private rooms to ward off the ever creeping chill. Even though they did not suffer from extremes in temperature as much as the Edain did, they found it comforting to keep fire close at hand when they rested deep within the mountain's dark embrace. It was a custom that he rather liked, so he decided to add a hearth and chimney to his plans for his personal residence in Ithilien.

He could vividly picture such a fireplace in the bedchamber he had planned. Unbidden, an image leapt to the forefront of his mind of Isilmei's long, alabaster body stretched before the hearth, her skin bathed by the fire's warm glow. Passion surged through his veins as he pictured her sky blue eyes filled with desire as she beckoned him near instead of shutting herself away from him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard, groaning at his own folly. He knew she cared for him, yearned for him, perhaps even loved him, but until she was willing to admit as much to herself they were at an impasse.

He counted among his greatest accomplishments in Imladris the fact that Lord Celeborn had finally granted him permission to pursue Isilmei and ask for her hand. And yet now that the way was clear, _she_ was the obstacle between them. At times she looked at him with longing, and at others she was cool and distant.

Legolas had watched as she drew closer to the Galadhel brothers and farther away from him as his party made its way between Imladris and Eryn Lasgalen. When he finally found an opportunity to be alone with her, he began to confess his intentions – which had very nearly led to disaster. He was so frustrated by the mixed signals he received from her that he pushed her away. The younger Galadhel, Rumil, had been quick to pick up on the hurt in Isilmei's expression after she returned from the lake's edge. When Legolas approached her to apologize for his anger she rebuffed him and Rumil silently positioned himself to intercept any trouble. For the rest of their journey Legolas had honored her wish for distance, wanting to make amends but not knowing how – and all too aware of the speculative looks he drew from both Lorien warriors.

Soft knocking on his chamber door pulled him out of his contemplations. He rose from his bed and crossed the room on bare feet, clad only in a well-worn pair of leggings. He regretted his state of undress when he pulled open the door and saw the face of his visitor. If she had any idea what he had just been thinking about then surely she would turn and flee. Her expression hinted at a tangle of emotions, and though he stood there in the doorway for a moment in stunned silence, he did not miss the way her eyes quickly roamed over his naked torso. Desire lapped at his heart in response, prompting him to realize what a compromising position they would be in if discovered.

"Isilmei, it is late. Is everything all right?" He grasped her gently by the elbow and pulled her within the room, shutting the door behind them so that any prying eyes that might still be about would not see the distraught lady entering the chamber of the half-dressed prince in the middle of the night. The look on her face alarmed him. Her eyes were wide, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He could see the slight tremble in her hands that she tried to control as she stared at him. "Has something happened? Is there trouble?" His urge to protect her quickly overpowered the lingering awkwardness that had arisen between them.

"I…I need to speak with you." She gaped at him, her mouth opening as if she intended to say more, and then closing again several times before his free hand rose to her cheek. He was becoming concerned about her well-being, for he had never seen her so lacking in composure.

He cupped her face lightly, his thumb caressing her porcelain skin. His breath hitched when she inclined her head to press her face into his hand, grazing the outside edge of his thumb with her nose and lips. Part of his mind sought to etch every detail of her face and her nearness permanently onto his heart, while another part warned him to tread carefully, knowing that the yearning she ignited within him would not be easily extinguished. "I have missed you, sweet Isil." The whispered words escaped his lips before he realized what he was saying, but there was too much truth in them to deny.

"There is something I have to tell you," she said, her words tumbling after one another as she spoke. "If I wait until my courage catches up with my heart, I shall never say it. And I do not know whether or not you still even care to hear what I have to say, but I must say it, and so I…"

"Are you well?" he asked as his brow creased in concern. "You have me worried. What…"

"I love you, Legolas." Her words arrested his mind and his heart, to the point that he was only dimly aware that he stood there staring at her with his mouth agape and his hand frozen against her cheek. "I love you."

For the briefest of instances Legolas was unsure if he was awake or dreaming. Long had he wished for her to say those words to him, and now here she was before him. He could see the truth of her love in her eyes, yet there was also lingering hesitation in her expression. As a bubble of joy rose in his spirit, he realized that her doubt was caused by the fact he had not said the words themselves to her. Nevermind that she previously stopped him when he tried to declare his love. She was ready to hear him now and he knew just the way to banish that darkness from her lovely face. "I love you. I have loved you for years. Long have I waited to tell you so."

She turned her face into his hand and pressed her warm, full lips against his palm, causing a tremor of yearning to zip down his spine. As his free hand lifted to slide around her waist and come to rest at the small of her back, her hands found the hammering heartbeat within his chest.

With a lump in his throat Legolas decided that there was no longer any reason to withhold his deepest desires from her. Their kind did not love lightly, and relationships that formed between pairs were neither fleeting nor inconstant. If she was willing to hear him now, then he wanted her to hear everything. "Isil," he began as he pulled in a deep breath and tightened the hand about her waist, "I want you to be…" His breath caught in his throat as he looked into her eyes, a small voice of doubt in the back of his mind dreading the possibility that he might say too much and frighten her away again.

Her tapered fingers found his wrist as he continued to caress her cheek. His glance dropped to her grip on his arm and when he looked back into her eyes, he saw that her clear gaze was now free of doubt or fear. In her eyes he saw love, understanding, and quiet joy.

His courage renewed, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her delectable lips as he held her gaze. "I want to stand beside you for the rest of our lives. Will you be my wife? Let me love you forever?"

Her grip on his wrist tightened. "Legolas, do you know that I…about my past? That I was betrothed once before?"

"Yes." He could see a hint of uncertainty flickering within her gaze and tightened his hold on her. If she tried to disappear from his side again, she would have to fight him to leave him.

Her blue eyes grew wide. "And that does not diminish your opinion of me?"

"Of course not." What foolish notion could ever have planted that thought in her head?

A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she sagged against him. "Truly?"

He smiled as he kissed her forehead. "Isil, do you love me, and only me?"

"With all my heart," she said. A wealth of sincerity and feeling lit the blue of her eyes and warmed Legolas all the way down to his toes.

"Will you stand beside me until the world is unmade?"

She nodded. "And longer, if it is the will of Iluvatar."

He squeezed her waist and cheek to reinforce his words. "Then _say_ you will be my wife. Say you will take me as your own and build a life with me."

With tears of joy in her eyes she lifted her chin to bring her lips closer to his. "I will," she whispered.

Legolas felt his heart give a painful lurch as she said the two words he despaired of ever hearing from her lips. Now that he had secured her pledge to bind with him, he rested his forehead against hers as he pulled in several deep, composing breaths and entertained wild notions of how he might arrange their schedules so that she would never be out of his sight until their binding day. In a husky voice he whispered against her skin. "What changed your mind? You were so frightened before. I worried I had ruined things between us that afternoon by the lake."

She gave a quick shake of the head as she stood within the circle of his arms. "It was I who almost ruined things, not you, Legolas." Her fingers drew enticing circles on his bare skin as she spoke. "I knew you were fond of me, but for a long while I was unaware your feelings extended beyond friendship."

He drew back to see her face, surprised that she had been so innocent of the depth of his emotions. How could she have ever believed that his feelings for her stopped at friendship?

She raised a hand between them to trace the contours of his face. "And for a time I was afraid that I could not love you completely." Heavy emotion flashed across her features as she made her confession. "I thought you deserved to be loved fully, with my whole heart. I had to be _sure_ that I could give you all of me before I could let myself love you." He kissed the pad of her thumb as she traced his bottom lip. She gazed at him so adoringly that his heart melted, love swelling within him past the point he thought possible to contain within one physical body.

He pressed his lips to the center of her forehead once more and ran both hands up her back in wordless support and understanding.

"I have listened as you talked of Ithilien, and watched the way that you interact with people. The courtesy you show, your care and concern for the welfare of others – they are but some of the reasons that I respect and admire you. I believe in what you are trying to build, and I want to help you build it." Her fingers braided themselves into his hair as she spoke, touching him with such reverence that he felt humbled and overwhelmed. "And I finally realized that the reason I care so much about Ithilien is because it is where _you_ will be. You are the center of the entire enterprise, Legolas. And you have become the center of the world to me." A slow smile started to spread across her lips. "I was recently reminded that love is a gift we should always treasure, so that is what I want to do. I do not want to be afraid to live, or to love you."

"I started to love you the morning I first saw you hold Eliel in your arms," he confessed as his hands continued to caress her body. "It sounds trite, but I had never given thought to having a family of my own until that moment. The more time I spent with you, the more impressed I became by your sweetness and the gentle strength of your heart." He kissed her temples, eyes, and cheeks as he spoke. "As I was making plans for the new colony, yours was the opinion I most wanted. I think I was already planning with you in mind, even though I did not realize it at first."

"Legolas, promise me this is not a dream," she sighed. "That you are really here and that you truly love me?"

In the tender ache she engendered in his heart, he realized that her hold over him was already complete. "I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you," he vowed hoarsely. His heart nearly bursting with joy, Legolas allowed himself the freedom of acting purely in accordance with his emotions as he reached out to pull her tightly against his chest. He turned her smoothly so that she was pressed against the door as his lips locked onto hers. As her lips parted to allow him full access to her mouth, she moaned. His tongue danced with hers, over and under and around as the love for her he had long sought to bury deep within him overspilled its tightly drawn boundaries and rained down around them both.

They explored one another as their passion guided their hands and mouths. Her skin was as soft as silk, her hair smooth satin. When the warm fullness of her lips trailed a line of wet, soft kisses from his chin to his ear he exhaled a deep sigh of need and scooped his hands under her backside to pull her body flush against his. She gasped as her back arched and her head leaned backward, pressing her tightly against his chest and baring the elegant column of her neck to his hungry gaze.

"Legolas!" she panted as she gripped his shoulder and the back of his neck.

"Do you have any idea how much I need you?" He grated as he held her to him tightly with one arm around her waist. His other hand trailed down her slender neck to her shoulder and her arm before skimming over the flare of her hip and rising back up to graze her chest. She whimpered in his arms as she clutched at his back. His hand came to rest against her throat, the span of his palm covering the entire length between her collarbone and chin. His eyes were riveted onto hers, missing nothing of the mixture of shy affection, wonder, and lust darkening her eyes to the velvety blue of the night sky.

The smallest of smiles turned up the corners of her full lips. "Is that why you call me 'love?'"

"Yes," he said softly as his hands slipped underneath the heavy curtain of her hair and trailed along her spine. "I call you 'love' because you are my love."

Pink roses bloomed in her cheeks as she cast her eyes shyly downward before raising them to meet his gaze once more. "And you are mine," she whispered.

"My one, _true_ love," he vowed as he raised her chin to capture her lips in a soft, tender kiss filled with promise. He meant the kiss to remain gentle and sweet, but the sparks dancing between them flared rapidly into a blaze of passion as she returned his kiss with unmistakable desire. When she lightly nipped his lower lip he groaned low in his throat, hooking one arm under her knees and scooping her against his chest. He knew just where he wanted to see her, carrying her toward the fire before smoothly lowering them both upon the soft rug resting in front of the hearth.

Bending forward, he slid one hand underneath her waist to pull her against him before resting his weight on his elbows. He closed his arms around her, relishing the feel of her body against his, the heavy silk of her hair as he brushed a stray lock behind her ear. She was exquisite, and she loved him. His heart felt near to bursting. She pulled him down to her mouth and kissed him greedily as his love and desire flared higher with each kiss, each caress.

"Sweet Isil," he whispered as she tipped up her chin to give him access to her neck. He was only too happy to oblige, pressing a line of hungry kisses down toward the hollow of her throat while his hand skimmed over her torso. He breathed in the delicious scent of night-blooming jasmine rising from her skin and hair.

When he scooped his hand underneath her backside to nestle her more tightly against him, she responded by rising to her elbow and pushing against his chest. He obliged, grasping onto her hips to guide her on top of him as he lay back. He learned a kind of delicious agony under her greedy hands and mouth until he could take no more. His arms crushed her body against him as he rolled them. As he came to rest on top of her, he grabbed her hands in both of his and raised them above her head to halt the utter demolition of control she sparked within him.

"Stop!" he cried. It took several moments of excruciating internal battle and ragged breathing before he could say more. "I ache for you, love," he finally gasped. "If you touch me that way I will lose control." He leaned down to kiss her heated brow, caressing her palms with his thumbs to soften the harsh edge in his voice. "Curse propriety and duty."

Her arms closed around him and she gently tugged him down to her. He rested his head against her chest as she combed his hair with her fingers. "Your sense of duty is one of the reasons I love you so much," she whispered. "You are right," she agreed. "We should wait."

He lifted himself onto one elbow to search her face and was overwhelmed by the acceptance and love he saw in her eyes. He felt as though everything he had ever wanted was suddenly within his grasp. "Ours will be the first marriage in Ithilien." Suddenly it all made perfect sense to him. He was meant for this adventure, and for the elleth lying beneath him. He had truly found the other half of his soul.

Doubt flickered within her eyes and threatened to bring his elation to a crashing halt. "That would be fitting, although…"

"What?" A flash of panic seized him until she ran silken fingertips over his brow and lips.

She shrugged one shoulder as she met his gaze. "I worry that once we reach the settlement you will be so busy that we will have very little time together."

"It is true that we will all be busy when we reach our new home," he admitted, breathing a sigh of relief that the problem she identified was rectifiable. "I will not wish to relinquish you so soon after our bonding." He slid one hand down her body and gave her waist a reassuring squeeze to signal his acceptance of her concern. "Where would you like to have the ceremony?"

She thought for a moment. "In Minas Tirith. Arwen and Aragorn are both so supportive of our match that they will ensure we have at least a few days to ourselves after our binding."

He nodded as a smile spread across his lips. "Perfect. Let us write to Imladris to make our betrothal official."

"Yes," she smiled happily as she toyed with the ends of his hair. "I want my grandfather to stand with me, and I know it would mean much to you for your father to be there."

He kissed her then, and for long hours they held each other and spoke of many things as they lay bathed in the fire's golden glow. There was not a single trace of unease or shyness between them as they lingered in each other's arms, sharing stories and dreams, kisses and tender caresses. They parted only long enough for him to add fuel to the fire before eagerly returning to her embrace.

He judged it would take at least a year and a half before she would be his wife, and suddenly time was of the essence to him. It seemed too long to wait, and yet they were in agreement that following the old traditions was the proper choice. He was also certain that both his father and her grandfather would be furious with him for bonding with her without their official blessing. And so he held himself in check, keeping the fires of his passion banked safely within him as they enjoyed the doting warmth of the love surrounding them both.

Eventually, he realized that night was fading and a new day approached. As much as he did not want to admit it, he had to see her back to her room before they were discovered. She agreed, though her reluctance was clear as she rose with him and straightened her clothing and hair while he dressed. He escorted her through the still-dark passageways, giving in repeatedly to the temptation to draw her back into his embrace and kiss her deeply. They laughed like naughty elflings as they made their way through his father's halls, each shushing the other for every bout of mirth as they shared eager touches and honeyed kisses. Legolas felt sure that it was the happiest day of his life.

TBC…


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28: A Change in Plans and an Unexpected Detour**

_Ten months later…_

The sound of running horses provided Isilmei with the first sign that her world was about to be turned upside down. Long before they could see them, the members of Legolas's traveling party heard a chorus of thundering hooves.

Without word the seven warriors formed a protective circle around herself, Míril, and the three others – an historian from Mithlond, a linguist from Imladris, and a master forester from East Lorien – who had not trained as fighters. The only one missing from their party, from Isilmei's perspective, was Rumil. Her new friend had elected to remain behind in Eryn Lasgalen at the side of his beloved Durneth in hopes that his constancy and dedication would eventually win her father's blessing for their marriage.

As she watched Legolas's warriors close ranks around them, Isilmei was impressed that the maneuver was accomplished without a single break in stride from their sleek mounts. Legolas rode at the front of the circle, foremost of their party, and Isilmei watched his back stiffen to ramrod straightness as Arod's powerful strides ate up the ground and sent Legolas's golden hair flying behind him. All of a sudden his position as their group's leader struck Isilmei as more burden than blessing, for she would have preferred to see him safe from any potential harm. Even though, she admitted to herself with an inward sigh, her intended was not the sort of ellon who allowed others to handle responsibilities he considered his own.

Isilmei's mind traveled a short journey back in time as she watched his hair blowing in the breeze, for it had been a windy day indeed when she stood beside him in front of Eryn Lasgalen's court officials and promised to bind herself to him for all eternity. Their betrothal ceremony had taken place much sooner than they thought possible thanks to their elders' initiative. They had both been taken by surprise when Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil rode into Eryn Lasgalen a few short days after Isilmei confessed her love to Legolas.

When questioned, her grandfather admitted that though he lacked Grandmother's ability to peer into the future, it had not been a difficult guess for either him or Legolas's father to discern that there would soon be a betrothal between their families. Grandfather told her with an indulgent smile that he assumed she would not wish to delay their official period of betrothal any longer than necessary, so he had chosen to take King Thranduil up on his offer to tour the northern reaches of the great forest. For the love of their young, they had put aside their differences and ridden together for Eryn Lasgalen.

She felt a surge of warmth in her heart for both her intended and her family as she glanced down at the silver betrothal ring adorning her right index finger. Entwined vines had been carved into the band and glinted brightly in the afternoon sunshine. A metalsmith in Eryn Lasgalen had created it, along with the wider band Legolas wore. The betrothal ceremony was conducted by Legolas's older brother, Prince Ferion, on a happy, if windy, day within the king's private walled garden and was followed by a banquet feast and hours of dancing within the warm cozy walls of the mountain keep.

The site which greeted her eyes as their party topped a gentle rise snapped Isilmei out of her reminiscences. Less than half a league ahead of them six destriers cantered smartly in their direction. The lead rider was clothed in the robes of a royal messenger and beside him a warrior clad in silver mail held aloft the black-and-silver banner of King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor. Four more warriors in full armor rode in pairs behind the messenger and standard bearer.

Legolas held up a hand and their party reined to a halt to await the approach of the Gondorians. Isilmei shrugged her shoulder in answer to the questioning glance she received from Míril. With a sigh the tall elleth turned her eyes to the long straight back of her intended, Orophin, who rode beside Legolas.

"Well met, good sirs." Legolas's rich voice rose to reach the ears of the approaching Edain.

The herald offered a brisk nod as he reined in his horse. "Your Royal Highness, honored friends. We bring news from King Elessar."

"To what destination do you proceed?" Legolas asked.

"We were sent in search of you, Sir."

Isilmei knew that a crease of concern wrinkled her beloved's smooth brow as he asked, "What news from the king?"

"Ill tidings, I regret to tell. Gondor is under attack. The king bids you return with us to Minas Tirith for a war council."

Isilmei shifted in her saddle and cast worried eyes toward Míril, who paled at the news.

"What has happened? Who would dare attack the realm of King Elessar?" As he spoke, Legolas swapped a concerned glance with Orophin to his right and Turwaithion to his left.

"The Haradwaith have united under one leader, a scoundrel who seeks to challenge King Elessar's claim to the throne and capture the title for himself." The herald's personal opinion of such audacity was clear in the tone of his voice and his pinched expression. If the situation were not so serious, Isilmei might have chuckled at the fussy, crisp disdain in the man's expression.

Isilmei flashed back to the royal garden in Minas Tirith when in order to teach her to defend herself, Legolas challenged her to action by threatening Aragorn and Eldarion. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that so soon after hearing those words, they would actually be coming true.

The speaker continued. "The rebels have invaded and claimed part of South Ithilien and are moving steadily northward. The king and Prince Faramir feel that your party would not be safe in Ithilien at present and bids you return with us to the White City. He seeks your input in a war council to be held with Prince Faramir of Ithilien, Eomer-King of Rohan, and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, among others."

Legolas nodded gravely and tossed another quick glance to those closest to him. "We are grateful for your warning and your guidance to Minas Tirith."

Without further delay the Gondorians signaled their horses to wheel around and the expanded party set out at a gallop toward the White City.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Several days later…_

By the time the Ithilien Elves reached the capital, preparations seemed well underway for the coming trouble. Soldiers in shining silver plate emblazoned with the tree-and-stars device of Gondor marched briskly through the city streets. There were many more soldiers visible than there had been the last time Orophin had come to the city with Legolas and tension was clear on many of the faces glancing up to watch the group of Elves ride past.

As their party ascended to the Sixth Level, they passed a row of structures set aside as guest quarters. Banners representing the origin of each guest hung above the front door of each house. Orophin easily recognized Rohan's white steed racing across its dark green field, but the others were foreign to him. He assumed that King Elessar had summoned as many allies as could be gathered to face the united tribes of Harad.

Legolas signaled his party to halt when they reached the spacious stable complex. As the Elves dismounted, they were greeted by efficient and courteous men and women waiting to escort their guests to a variety of locations. Lord Legolas's warriors were shown to one of the guest houses while Míril was informed she would be given a room within the King's House. Orophin was appreciative of the additional courtesy shown to his intended, knowing that she would prefer to remain close to Isilmei in what was surely for Míril a loud and crowded city. As the other members of their party followed their escort toward their assigned quarters, Legolas quietly asked both Orophin and Turwaithion to accompany him to his meeting with the king.

A tall young lad barely past his boyhood and a slim young woman whose garb marked them both as servants to the royal family escorted Legolas, Orophin, Turwaithion and the two ellith through the tunnel that rose up into the Citadel. Míril's deep blue eyes were wide with worry as Orophin gave her a reassuring smile. When they reached the top of the tunnel the young woman indicated that the ellith should follow her toward the King's House while the lad turned toward the Tower. Orophin himself was reassured when he saw Isilmei loop her arm through Míril's as they followed after the young woman.

The meeting was already underway when Legolas, Orophin, and Turwaithion entered the Privy Council Chamber. Orophin was quick to note the firm set of King Elessar's jawline and the grim expression he wore. The effect was surprisingly like that of Lord Celeborn during strategy meetings and brought back memories of similar discussions held in Lothlorien's Great Hall. Tension and tightly-reined aggression dominated the expressions of the six others surrounding the large round table at the center of the room. It was an atmosphere that Orophin had much more experience with than he would have wished.

"Greetings, my friends," King Elessar called when he spotted the three Elven warriors. The king waved a hand to bid them closer as each of them saluted him. "I am glad to see you safely arrived. Prince Faramir was just giving us some information about our enemy."

Orophin turned his attention to the man indicated. He was taller than most of the other men in the room, though somewhat shorter than the king. Light brown hair fell in soft waves about his shoulders and matching stubble roughened his chin. Restrained ferocity burned in Prince Faramir's steely gaze as he studied the map in front of him and communicated without words that the prince would not tolerate the current threat to his lands and people. Yet in spite of his stern mien and his warrior's physique, Orophin could not help noticing a refinement of movement and a deep thoughtfulness in the man's expression and began to suspect that like himself, Prince Faramir was a warrior out of necessity rather than preference.

"We believe that as many as ten of the southern tribes have united under someone calling himself the Serpent Reborn," Prince Faramir said. "Our scouts have been unable to confirm his true identity but he claims himself to be the reincarnation of the Black Serpent killed upon the Pelennor during the war. He is perhaps a veteran of that battle, but whoever he is; he has convinced many prominent tribal figures that he has risen from the dead to lead them to victory over the north."

"The desert sun must have baked their brains crispy," griped a stout man with muscular shoulders and flowing golden hair whose doublet bore the galloping steed of Rohan.

"Do we know for certain which tribes have united?" The king asked. "Gondor has existing treaties with four of the twelve, so your information would indicate that at least two of our supposed allies have changed their allegiance."

Prince Faramir shook his head. "It is hard to ascertain for certain which groups are involved and which are not because of the shifting alliances within their tribal culture. Members of any given tribe sometimes change their loyalty for what we would see as thin reasoning indeed. For example, one of my rangers reported that a faction within one tribe recently killed their leader for no other reason than he lost a horse race during a festival. After the old leader was dead, part of the tribe split off and pledged fealty to another tribe, while yet another faction splintered off and established a new tribe all together. It is a strange cultural system by our reckoning."

"What do they hope to gain?" Legolas asked.

"Water, not to mention richer lands for farming and grazing," Faramir answered. "They have taken possession of nearly the entire southern length of the Poros, violating long-standing treaties securing use of the river for both our peoples. A number of villages have been razed, the people slaughtered in their beds down to the last child."

"Some of the land your colony is slated to occupy is currently under their control, Lord Legolas," the king said.

Legolas nodded, clearly having already come to the same conclusion. "How can my warriors and I be of the most assistance?"

The king smiled tightly. "I'm hopeful that you will teach your warriors your unique way of dealing with Mumakil. If it comes to open battle, stopping their rampaging war-towers will be a top priority."

Legolas grinned dangerously and offered a confident nod. "I can do that."

Orophin looked to Legolas for some elucidation but received none. He shot a glance at Turwaithion, who appeared equally unenlightened, and not happy about it.

"Do they have allies outside of Harad?" The king asked.

"Yes." A round of frustrated groans, growls, and sighs reached Orophin's ears at Prince Faramir's answer. "This Serpent Reborn is said to be a charismatic figure," the Prince of Ithilien continued. "He incites people to violence with a religious fervor, claiming that you won your crown through use of the dead, and that the dead – meaning himself, I assume – have risen once again to reclaim it. Certain groups of Easterlings and Variags have rallied to his cause."

"What of your people, Prince Faramir?" The king's expression grew more serious with each answer he received, his lips pulling downward in a solemn frown.

"Rangers have pulled out as many civilians as they can. The streets of Emyn Arnen are becoming crowded with refugees, including those the rangers evacuated from your settlement, Lord Legolas." He cast a quick glance toward Legolas before turning his eyes back to King Elessar. "We're doing our best to cut-off their supply lines and slow their momentum, but I simply don't have enough rangers to stop them. The main force of the enemy is marching north up the Harad Road, but there is a smaller force that has passed the burial mounds at Haudh in Gwanur and is pushing northwest. I believe their objective to be Pelargir."

"So a multi-pronged approach is needed," King Elessar said as he rubbed his bearded chin with one hand. He cast a speculative glance across the table. "Lord Legolas, how soon will the rest of your people be moving toward Ithilien?"

"The closest group is still two months out." Anticipating the king's next question, Legolas added, "There are less than a dozen warriors in the group, but I will send a rider if you think they could be of use."

"We don't have time to wait for the rider to go and bring them back," the king said with a shake of his head. "The longer the Haradrim are allowed to hold their ill-gotten gains, the more difficult they'll be to dislodge. We must decide upon our course of action and prepare to march as quickly as possible."

King Elessar and his allies quickly devised a battle plan which included marching south and dividing their forces into three flanks – two to sandwich the main force and the third to deal with the smaller force moving northwest. The Elven warriors traveling with Lord Legolas would be folded into Prince Faramir's forces and would ride under Legolas's command. They would march at sunrise three days hence.

As the meeting adjourned, King Elessar invited everyone to the Hall of Feasts for the evening meal. Most of the men filed out, leaving the Elves, Prince Faramir, and King Elessar. The king extended to those who had not trained as warriors refuge in Minas Tirith as guests of the crown, which Orophin knew pleased Legolas just as much as it pleased him. Orophin could not fathom the idea of allowing either his beloved Míril or sweet Isilmei to enter into harm's way.

The three Elves left the Tower together before Turwaithion peeled off to make his way toward their guest quarters. Orophin followed Legolas, who led him to the King's House in search of their ladies. Legolas pointed the way to the chambers reserved for visiting family members before bidding him farewell and heading toward the royal family's private quarters. Orophin was about to ask a servant for directions when he heard the soft tones of two very familiar feminine voices murmuring behind a door to his right.

He knocked on the door and pushed it open when Míril's beckoned. She sat on the foot of a plush bed, her lovely features clouded with concern. Isilmei stood by the window, worrying the fabric of her skirt with nervous fingers as she looked out over the garden.

When she saw him, Míril rose quickly to her feet and closed the distance between them. He welcomed her into his embrace and held her securely against him as he picked her up off her feet and kissed her shining hair before returning her gently to the floor.

"You are riding to war?" Míril asked as she pressed the side of her face against his.

"Yes," he said before kissing her cheek. "In three days' time."

"I thought the fighting was over," Isilmei said quietly from her post by the window.

"After the Southrons are put down, it will be," Orophin said in the most reassuring tone he could muster. The threat posed by the united tribes of Harad was no laughing matter, but Orophin hardly thought the danger equal to that which the free peoples had already met and conquered.

"The last hurrah of Sauron's remnants?" Míril asked quietly.

"I believe so," Orophin answered.

Isilmei left the window and crossed toward the two standing by the door. "I will leave the two of you to your privacy," she said as she squeezed Míril's shoulder. The petite blonde stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Orophin's cheek. "Be careful, brother."

He smiled warmly down at the young one he had come to think of as family. "I will. We have been summoned to dinner in the Great Hall of Feasts in two hours. Legolas said he was going to his quarters when we left the Privy Council Chamber, but I feel sure that his true intention was to find you, sister."

Isilmei nodded her acknowledgement before slipping quietly from the room and pulling the door closed behind her. A long moment of silence stretched between them after Isilmei withdrew from the room. Orophin understood that his betrothed needed to formulate what she said before she spoke, and patiently gave her the time she needed. He was content to hold her in his arms until he absolutely had to let her go.

When she finally lifted her head from his chest, the worry and sorrow in the velvet indigo of her eyes was nearly enough to undo him. "Ai, Orophin. I understand that the threat must be faced, but I wish you did not have to go."

"I wish I did not too," he said gently as he tucked a stray lock of honey-colored hair behind her ear, "but I must."

Her chin trembled briefly and he loved her even more for trying so hard to be brave for his benefit. "I know," she nodded, "and so I am trying my best to refrain from throwing myself at you and begging you to stay. But it is exceedingly difficult."

He smiled softly at her as he faced his own internal struggle. This was the first time in his long life that he would be riding off to fight and leaving someone behind to worry for him. He wondered if his brother had felt any of the guilt he was now feeling before their march to Helm's Deep. If he had, Haldir had certainly never shown it, but Orophin could not help wondering if his brother had harbored any of the twisted thoughts that haunted him now. With a quiet sigh he supposed that, if he could not change the nature of his duty, then the least he could do was present a calm facade to the warm, compassionate elleth who filled his heart near to bursting. "Then do not try."

Quicker than a flash she leaned in and gripped his face in both of her hands, pulling him forward so that she could claim his lips. He clutched her securely and strove to put all of his love into his kiss as her long body pressed against him and the scent of honeysuckle wafting from her hair filled his senses.

She sniffled as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "What if something happens to you?"

"Do you trust me, my jewel?" He squeezed her tightly in his arms.

"You know that I do." He smiled at the way her voice was muffled by his doublet. "I worry only because I love you so much. Now that I have found you I do not want to imagine a life without you, Orophin. The time we have had together has not been enough. I want more."

He put her away from him just enough so that he could look into her eyes and take her chin in his hand. "I will return to you, Míril. I _swear_ it."

Pain and dread flashed through her eyes as she returned his gaze. "Do not make me promises that you may not be able to keep, beloved. It is unwise to taunt the Valar in that way. Just promise me that you will be careful."

He kissed the upturned tip of her nose and each of her cheeks before he responded. "I am confident in my word to you, or I would not have spoken. I have faced much greater challenges than this and have survived unscathed." He sealed his promise by placing a lingering kiss upon her lips.

"I trust you," she said with a tremulous smile. "I just wish that you did not have to leave me."

"We have accepted Legolas as our liege lord. He rides to protect our new home, to protect _us_. I cannot let him ride into danger without accompanying him."

She raised a hand to trace the line of his cheekbone as her love for him shone in her eyes. "I know, my brave warrior. I know. Just please promise me that you will take care, because you take my heart with you into danger."

He pulled her back into his arms and held her tightly as he rested his chin against her shoulder. Her steady presence and the surety of her love had become the sources of his strength, and he sent a silent prayer to the Valar that the campaign would be a short one and he would soon return to her side. "I dream of a day when we do not have to be parted from one another," he confessed. "When the world is safe enough so that no one has to ride into danger. I want that for us, and for our elflings."

She smiled as she looked up at him and ran one hand up his chest and throat to rest her tapered fingers upon his lips. "I want to meet those elflings."

"As do I." He kissed her fingers and then her lips. "Perhaps while I am gone you can finalize plans for our binding day?"

She nodded, and he could see in the amused light in her eyes that she knew full well that he was trying to leave her with something positive to think about while they were apart. "You have some considerable skills in diplomacy yourself, my kind, handsome Orophin."

"I am doing my best to learn from my enchanting betrothed, for she has come to dominate my every thought as well as my heart."

"Hurry back to me," she begged as her fingers gripped his doublet and tunic. "_Please_."

"We will not leave for several more days," he told her as he lowered his head to recapture her lips. "And when we do, I will be back before you even have time to miss me."

TBC…


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29: A Momentary Respite and an Ominous Warning**

After leaving Míril's room, Isilmei went to the nursery thinking it the most likely place to find Arwen and the children at this time of day. To her disappointment it was empty. A quick tour of the rest of the residence yielded no signs of the queen or her brood, which prompted Isilmei to exit the King's House and head for the Tower. Entering by the rear doorway and quickly climbing the back stairs, she was greeted by the sounds of young girlish voices as she approached the Queen's Parlor.

She nodded to the silent sentry and paused in the shadows just outside the open doorway, letting her eyes feast upon the welcome sight of domestic happiness before her. Arwen sat in her customary chair by the window with a book open upon her lap. Her daughters were spread out near her feet, each engaged with various toys, while Prince Eldarion sat at a small desk closer to the crackling fireplace. His face was a study of concentration as he peered at the tome before him. With one hand he traced the lines of the text as he read to himself while the other held a quill poised over a piece of parchment. Seeing them all look so happy and healthy brought a smile to Isilmei's face and lifted her spirits for the first time since their traveling party had been approached by Aragorn's herald.

She had hoped to speak to Arwen privately about the Haradrim threat – thinking she would get a more direct answer from Arwen than from either Aragorn or Legolas – but clearly that conversation would have to wait. It was not a discussion that she wished to have in front of the children. Shoving her worries to the back of her mind, she stepped into the room and called softly, "Hello, family."

Eldarion was the first to look up and spot her. His bright blue eyes grew excited as he rose from his desk and launched himself at her. "Auntie Pearl!"

She laughed happily as he plowed into her with such momentum that she was forced to take a step backward. "Eldarion, my love!" She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, noting with alarm that she hardly had to bend forward to do so. "You have grown a foot since last I've seen you." Taking him by the shoulders, she moved him away from her so that could marvel at his growth. "Stand back and let me look at you."

"Ada says I'll be tall as Nana before I know it," he said with a smile full of confidence.

"I believe you will," she answered as she mussed his hair. He grinned self-consciously and batted her hand away as his sisters swarmed around.

"Hello, my darling," Isilmei said as Eliel rushed forward and threw her arms about Isilmei's waist. "You are prettier every day!" She knelt and Eliel looped her arm around her auntie's shoulders as Isilmei reached out and gathered Arwen's second-born daughter against her chest. "Gilrael! My, how you've grown!"

The little one stood back and stretched herself up on her tiptoes to make herself as tall as she possibly could. "I'll be big as Eli soon!" Gilrael announced proudly.

"I can see that," Isilmei said as she kissed both her nieces on the cheek.

Arwen had risen to her feet with her youngest daughter in her arms and crossed toward the door. Isilmei stood and made her way toward her cousin with a warm smile on her face.

"Arwen, it is so good to see you. I've missed you all terribly." She leaned forward to hug her cousin and the little one between them.

"And we've missed you, Isil. It's good to have you home." Estelwen regarded Isilmei shyly from her mother's arms.

"She has grown as well," Isilmei said with a nod toward the toddler. She ran her fingers gently through the girl's tousled curls as Estelwen dropped her head to her mother's shoulder and hid her face in her mother's hair.

Arwen smiled. "She is taller at this age than her sisters were. I think she'll be the tallest of all our girls."

"Have you forgotten your Auntie Pearl, little one?" Isilmei asked softly as she smiled at the toddler and stroked her back. "I have been gone a while."

"More than a year," Arwen said with a teasing scold.

Eldarion had come to stand between his mother and his auntie. Isilmei noted with a soft warmth in her heart that the little girl looked to her brother for guidance when he tickled her bare feet. "Auntie Pearl is family, Estelwen," he told his sister. "She loves you too."

The smallest princess grinned bashfully as Isilmei reached out her arms. Estelwen finally consented by leaning forward so that Isilmei could take the child gently into her embrace. She settled the little one on her left hip while raising her right hand to brush unruly dark hair behind Estelwen's gently peaked ear. As she completed the gesture, Arwen's eyes lit with surprise and she let out a delighted squeal.

"Ai! Isilmei!" She exclaimed as she reached out and captured Isilmei's right hand in her own. "To whom does this belong?"

Isilmei cast her cousin a impish smile. "Well, I met the most adorable dwarf in Mithlond. A friend of Gimli's, who said that…"

"Isil! Do not jest! _Who_ put this ring on your finger? And _why_ did you not write to tell me?!" Arwen's smooth brow furrowed into a series of wrinkles and her generous lips puckered into a pout. The anticipatory glimmer in her sharp blue eyes indicated that Arwen had a perfectly good idea to whom the ring belonged, but still wanted to hear the words.

Before Isilmei could answer, a warm voice spoke from the doorway. "I am proud to say that the ring is mine," Legolas said. He was smiling rather smugly, Isilmei thought, when she turned to watch his approach. She leaned into his side as he slid an arm about her shoulders. "We didn't tell you sooner because we wanted to tell you in person."

"Together," Isilmei added as she smiled warmly at her intended and her cousin.

The three older children swarmed their uncle as he laughed and accepted the adoration they so freely offered. Arwen looped an arm around Isilmei's shoulders and Isilmei put her free arm about Arwen's slim waist as they watched the happy reunion.

Isilmei blushed, knowing that Arwen was watching as Legolas's eyes returned frequently to his beloved's face as he greeted the children. Her coy grin turned into a contended smile as Arwen squeezed her shoulders and laughed with joy.

After waiting for her older children to have a turn, Arwen stepped forward to hug Legolas and place a kiss upon his cheek. "I'm so happy for the two of you, even though I'm terribly vexed that you didn't tell me sooner. Does Aragorn know?"

Legolas gave them both a knowing smile. "Ai, yes, he was quick to notice my ring in the council chamber. We did not speak of it, but the look in his eye was more than enough to let me know that the topic _will_ come up in conversation over dinner."

"What plans have you made?" Arwen asked as she lifted her youngest from Isilmei's embrace and set her little feet upon the floor. Estelwen quickly toddled off after her older sisters, her round blue eyes continuing to watch the adults with shy curiosity.

Legolas stepped closer to wrap an arm about Isilmei's waist. She turned so that she nestled against his side and hugged him tightly, her eyes devouring his face as he answered Arwen's question. "We'd hoped you and Aragorn would consent to hosting our binding ceremony here," Legolas said.

"Yes!" Arwen exclaimed as she quickly enveloped both of them in an enthusiastic embrace. "Ai, it'll be a beautiful ceremony. Everything is turning out just like I hoped."

Before her mother could say more about the pending nuptials, Eliel interrupted the adults' conversation by tugging on the sleeve of her uncle's tunic. Legolas swapped a worried glance with Isilmei. This was a part of their announcement that was of concern to them both. "Uncle Leg?"

Legolas released his hold on Isilmei to rest one hand against Eliel's shoulder. "Yes, little one?"

Eliel regarded him shyly through fans of black lashes. "I guess I don't mind if you marry Auntie Pearl instead of me."

Isilmei's heart gave a bittersweet thump as her intended pulled their niece into his embrace. When he guided her to stand between the two of them, Isilmei took one of Eliel's hands in her own as her uncle squeezed her shoulders.

"Thank you, Eliel," Legolas said. "I love your auntie very much, and it would make me very happy if you could be happy for us on our wedding day."

"We've talked about our ceremony, and we both want you and your brother and sisters to be part of it. We'd like for you to have a special part that's just your own," Isilmei added as she squeezed her niece's hand. "Would you like that?"

Eliel nodded affably. "Sure." As Isilmei raised her eyes to share her relief with her betrothed, the princess explained the reason for her tranquil acceptance of this news. "Ada said it would be best if I married someone closer to my own age anyway. He said that you're very _old_, Uncle Leg." With that, she turned calmly on her heel and stepped away from the three surprised adults.

Isilmei clapped a hand over her mouth but was unable to stifle the peal of laughter that burst forth at the placid way Eliel had broken her first betrothal. Legolas scowled as she tried to rein in her giggles, two deep lines of annoyance marring his perfect brow as his lips pinched together in a frown.

Across from them, Arwen's slender shoulders shook with mirth. When Legolas turned his scowl upon her, Arwen held up a hand defensively. "Well, in her frame of reference, you _are_ very old," she chirped. "Anyone older than Eldarion is positively ancient in Eli's eyes."

Legolas huffed out a breath as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Isilmei stepped forward and wrapped both arms about his waist before brushing a consoling kiss against his cheek. It was the kind of gesture she would have been unable to perform if the exchange had taken place in, say, the banquet hall. But here within the privacy of the family, she felt free to offer him the commiseration he seemed to require. He held on to his grump for the smallest of moments before giving in and returning her embrace as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She knew that he was as relieved as she was that Eliel was not upset about their union.

Standing within the warm, steady arms of the one who had claimed her heart, and surrounded by the love of her family, Isilmei momentarily forgot all about the reason for their unscheduled visit and her desire to ask about the looming trouble. For the moment she was content to be in love and happy within the safety of the family circle.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_The next evening…_

Isilmei's sleep-clouded gaze cleared to reveal a most unexpected sight. Her last memory was of brushing out her hair and braiding it into a single thick plait before going to bed, but she did not wake to find herself in her bower. Instead, the sun was high above and cast an overly harsh light upon a large open field. The landscape was littered with debris and small groups of men and horses moved about in disorganized clumps. In the distance she saw Aragorn's banner and turned to make her way toward it, stopping abruptly when her attention wandered closer to the ground. A man in dented, bloody armor lay crumpled near her feet. He was still in the way that let her know his spirit had already fled his body.

She had seen and treated war wounds before, of course, but never on the battlefield itself. By the time patients reached Lorien's healing wards, emergency triage had already been performed by battlefield medics and her job as a healer had been to assess the damage and begin procedures that would remove all physical traces of the wounds. She had never seen a wound as gaping and dirty as the one that lay open upon the man's neck. The mortal blow had very nearly severed the man's head from his shoulders. Death would have been instantaneous. She knelt and said a quiet prayer over his body while gently closing his eyes. There was nothing else she could do for him.

'_How did I get here?'_ She wondered as she rose to her feet and cast her line of sight out across the field. She had touched the man before her without thinking, had felt the chill of his lifeless flesh and watched as his eyelids closed under her fingers. _'This must be real? A vision? Or a dream?' _It was hard to tell one from the other sometimes, causing her to wish once more that the Lady Galadriel were still in the bent world. _'Grandmother would know what to make of this.'_

Near the far edge of the field small pockets of fighting continued, but for the most part, everyone appeared to be picking up the pieces in the battle's aftermath. Prince Faramir stood with Orophin, Othanar, and several men she did not recognize at the top of a small rise. He surveyed the damage around him, passing a hand through his thick hair in a way that revealed his exhaustion. The dead lay scattered as far as she could see and among them, survivors checked bodies, called for healers, and began the slow process of retrieving the fallen. _'Where is Aragorn? Is Legolas with him?'_

A soldier dressed in the thick armor of the Rohirrim approached her, stopping to check the man lying at her feet. The Rohir was so close to her that she could smell the scents of horse, male sweat, and the metallic tang of blood upon him, but he did not spare her a single glance.

"This one is deceased," she said. "I am a healer. Can I help?"

The man sighed heavily and rose to his feet, trudging away without a word.

"Excuse me? Hello?" She called, but he did not seem to hear her. _'Vision? Is this the battle to come?'_

Looking about the field for a familiar face, Isilmei was drawn once again toward Aragorn's banner. As her gaze raked across the field, a flash of something bright that reflected the afternoon sun caught her eye. Golden hair upon a helmless head lying near a creek bed caught her attention and stole the breath from her lungs.

'_No,'_ she thought as she shook her head in denial. _'No, no, no, no, no!'_

She ran, her dread pulling at her limbs and causing her to stumble as she dashed toward the prone figure. She could not understand why he lay alone, why no one was tending him, as she closed the gap between them. Isilmei stopped a few feet away, doubling over as she retched into the grass at her feet. The force of her spasms brought her to her knees, and she was just barely able to catch herself with her hands before falling into the mess she had made.

'_Valar, no. Please,'_ she begged as she crawled over to Legolas. His torso was marred with multiple bloody wounds, crimson stains standing out in stark contrast against the green suede doublet. His limbs lay akimbo around him. One hand stretched toward her as though reaching out to clasp her fingers. She stared at the horror before her, shocked and disbelieving, her vision increasingly blurred by tears. She automatically raised a hand to check for a pulse, but there was no rise and fall in his chest. The wound above his heart would have been enough to kill any living being – even without the half dozen others that scored his body. His neck twisted at an impossible angle, leaving him staring open-mouthed and sightless into the afternoon sun. There was no light – no _life_ – in his eyes. She pulled her hand back and held it tightly against her chest, unwilling to touch him and feel the chill of death upon his skin. To do so would make this all too real for her to bear.

Desperately she prayed that she would wake from this terrible nightmare. _'This cannot be real,'_ she told herself sternly. _'This cannot be real.'_

A shadow fell across her as two figures drew near and looked down at Legolas's body with numb resignation in their eyes. She recognized neither man, but both were dressed in Gondorian plate and clearly seen the worst of the fighting. "This is a shame," said the taller of the two. "He was a masterful fighter."

"He was some kind of royalty, was he not?"

The first man nodded. "Did you see what he did with the Mumakil?"

"Amazing. I never would have believed the tale had I not seen the feat with my own eyes. I wonder if he leaves any family behind. Is there someone who should know about his death?"

"The king will know," his companion replied with a shrug. "They were friends. Come. Add him to the list of the dead and let's report to our captain."

Hearing Legolas referred to as an entry on a list of deceased warriors snapped Isilmei roughly out of her stupor. She reached out to grab the leg of the man closest to her but missed when he stepped away. "No!" she screamed. "You are wrong! He cannot be…"

The man moved off to follow his companion, oblivious to her cries.

With a start, Isilmei woke to find herself thoroughly tangled in her bed linens. The coverlet lay in a heap on the floor and she clutched one of her pillows as though trying to strangle it. She stumbled from her bed and flew to the window, desperate for fresh air free of the bitter taint of sweat and fear. Her fingers gripped the windowsill, only dimly aware of the rough stone digging into her delicate flesh as she fought to make sense of her experience.

Dreams among the Eldar often took on the look and feel of reality to the point that it was difficult to tell the difference between a dream and a vision for those gifted with foresight. Isilmei's gift had only begun revealing itself around the outbreak of the Ring War, and her grandmother's efforts to guide her toward understanding and mastery of her new gift had been disrupted by the war and its aftermath. For years Isilmei had stopped receiving visions of any kind, and eventually came to believe that whatever foresight she had been given was destroyed by her wartime experiences. Only in recent months had her visions returned to her. They usually came at night while she slept, and because it was hard for her to tell dream from vision, she often realized she had received a vision only after the fact, when whatever she had foreseen happened before her waking eyes.

A cool breeze drifted around her body, which is when she realized that her nightgown was soaked through. She pulled the straps off her shoulders as she withdrew into her room and quickly filled the basin with cool water. After cleansing the sweat and tears from her skin, she pulled a fresh gown from her trunk and shook the braid loose from her hair. She took her brush and exited onto the small balcony, settling uneasily upon a chaise and forcing herself to take deep, even breaths as she brushed out her hair. The repetition of the bristles sliding through her tresses was soothing. With each stroke she told herself, _'It was only a dream.'_ She could not bear entertaining the notion that what she saw might actually come true.

After long moments and much concentration, her hair hung in a smooth, shining waterfall down her back. Her heart rate was less frantic and the quaking of her hands had stilled to the occasional tremor. She told herself that she should go back to bed, but the thought was disturbing. _'What if it happens again? What if it was more than a dream?'_

With a start she slammed the brush down onto the chaise and shot to her feet. _'No. Do not think that way. It was _only_ a dream.'_ There was only one way to regain her equilibrium, she decided. In spite of the lateness of the hour, she must see him to assure herself that he was alright, that what she had seen did not reflect reality. Such was her hurry that she did not bother to pick up a robe as she fled toward room.

Quiet bare feet carried her down the hallway to Legolas's door. Based on the moon's position in the sky, it had only been a couple of hours since he had escorted her to her chamber and bade her goodnight with a searing kiss. She knew that he often liked to read before retiring, so there was a chance that he was still awake.

She knocked on the door but received no response. Perhaps he was with the other ellyn, or with Aragorn and his advisors discussing their upcoming march. _'The march…No,'_ she admonished herself sternly as the horrible image of his bloodied, broken body rose before her eyes. _'Do not think of it. It was_ only _a dream.'_ When a second knock also failed to raise a response, she reached for the handle and released the latch, pleased that the door was unlocked and swung open silently as she stepped into the room. Her eyes looked eagerly toward the bed, devouring the sight before her.

Lying peacefully in the middle of the bed was Legolas, his glorious body as perfect and whole as it had been when he kissed her goodnight. His covers bunched about his waist, giving her an unobstructed view of his torso. She watched, enraptured by the steady rise and fall of his chest, his unbroken skin. His long hair was unbound, softly reflecting the moonlight spilling into the room. She turned about to push the door closed, releasing it when she heard the quiet click of the latch settling into place.

The noise was enough to disturb her sleeping intended. His warrior's instincts brought him instantly awake and he leapt from the bed with the effortless grace of a lynx. Legolas's eyes were wide and wary until he saw the look on her face, at which point his expression softened with concern.

At the sight of him, alive and whole and standing so tall and confident before her, she burst into tears. He was beside her even as she reached for him, catching her up in his arms and folding her into his embrace.

"What is it, sweet one? What is wrong? Is there trouble?"

She wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head underneath his chin. "There is no trouble. I had a bad dream," she sniffled. "I am sorry to wake you. I just needed to see you."

"Shh…" he whispered as he ran a soothing hand down her back. "I never mind waking to you. You know that." There was a smile in his voice as he spoke that warmed her all the way down to her toes.

She breathed deeply, inhaling the warm, intimate scent of his skin as she hugged him tightly. He held her without saying another word as she took several deep breaths and finally managed to control her racing pulse and swallow past the thickness in her throat. He was here, with her, and safe. Safe and whole. She felt peace again standing within the circle of his arms. "I want to stay with you. Just for a bit."

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise indeed," he said lightly as he hugged her tighter. "I have been trying to think of some legitimate reason to get you into my bed before our binding day, and here you walk right into my room and insist. I am a very lucky ellon."

She had to laugh at the lascivious waggle of his eyebrows and his sly grin as she looked up at him. "Hold me, Legolas. Let me listen to your heartbeat for a while."

He took her face in his hands and kissed away the tears lingering on her cheeks. His last kiss landed on her lips, sweet and reassuring and steady. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" She shook her head adamantly. "I do not wish to think about it ever again, much less relive it by speaking of it. I do not want to give the recognition of speech to those images."

He quirked one dark brow. "Bad as all that, was it?"

"Worse." She looked up at him with imploring eyes. "May I stay?"

His answer came in the form of his sudden bend to hook an arm underneath her knees and sweep her off the floor.

She squealed in surprise and looped her arms around his neck while he carried her toward his bed. She pressed a dozen kisses to his face as he settled her upon the sheets. He wore only a thin pair of leggings, chest and feet bare. Through the thin fabric of her gown she could feel the heat of his skin pressing against hers as he stretched his long frame out beside her and gathered her against his chest.

As he reached out a hand to pull the covers over them both, she allowed herself to sink into his arms, his scent, the warmth of his bed. The cares she carried dissolved with blessed ease as she placed her ear over his heart and listened to its steady, even beat. The sound was a lullaby to her.

Now that the horror was past and she was safe and secure in Legolas's arms, she felt herself quickly falling into reverie. She yawned, causing him to chuckle softly as he squeezed her tighter. "My, what a giant yawn from a mere slip of an elleth."

"I love you," she said, too tired to do anything more than speak the simple, direct truth.

"I love you," he returned. "Sleep, sweet Isil. I will be ready to listen if you feel like talking about it in the morning."

She knew that she would have no wish to tell him what she had seen when she woke. Before she could say so, he lifted her hand off his chest and kissed each of her fingers. As his lips brushed her betrothal ring, his thumb slid down her palm, causing her to hiss in pain when he touched the heel of her hand. "Ow."

Legolas turned her hand over and angled it so that he could see her skin in the moonlight. "What happened, love? Your palm is covered in scrapes."

"Stone," she murmured, "in my room. Is nothing." She had not realized how hard she gripped the window ledge until this moment, but she was too comfortable and drowsy to care about a few scratches. "It will be fine in the morning." She pulled her hand free to wrap it around his waist as she snuggled closer against him. Her lips brushed gentle kisses to his shoulder and neck as his hand rose to press her head to his chest.

As she fell into reverie, she sent up a prayer of thanks for each and every moment she had to spend with this ellon who had so completely captured her heart. _'Please, Valar, watch over him. Keep him safe.'_

TBC…


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30: Harsh Words and Cold Departures**

On the eve of their march, King Elessar gathered all his soldiers and their families within the Great Hall of Feasts for a fortifying meal. Legolas knew that Isilmei was uneasy about the upcoming quest, and watched as her countenance grew increasingly pale while she listened to the soldiers boast of their prowess. Those around her devoured the mighty banquet the king's chefs laid before them, yet she ate nothing. Instead, she pushed her food about her plate as her frown deepened.

Legolas waited for the end of the speeches and the departure of the king and queen before quietly bidding the members of his traveling party good evening. Gently tucking Isilmei's hand into the bend of his elbow, he led her back toward the King's House for their nightly stroll.

The custom began before she left the White City with him, but seemed even more important to him since their return. After the evening repast, Legolas and Isilmei would excuse themselves and wander through the lush gardens Legolas had coaxed to life at the King's House. It was the only time during which protocol allowed them to be truly alone – except when Gilrael, ever fascinated by the doings of adults, snuck out onto her balcony to observe them.

The astute little princess had some time ago noticed that the manner in which adults spoke, and the topics about which they conversed, changed dramatically when adults did not think children were within earshot. Despite the best efforts of their parents, the prince and his younger sisters were well aware of tension afoot, and Legolas fully expected to see a pair of tiny white hands curled around the banister as Aragorn's offspring spied on the garden below.

Surprisingly, there was no evidence of any of the keep's smallest inhabitants. He watched as Isilmei peered closely at each shadow to assure no one was listening.

"Our tiny chaperone must be sleeping." Her tone revealed her relief that they were alone, yet was as tense as her expression had become during the feast.

Legolas wanted nothing more than to be able to ease her worries as he studied her. He felt a tender smile stretch its way across his mouth as he watched the way the moonlight played in Isilmei's hair. "This is fortunate, love;" he said as he caressed her cheek, "for I do not wish to share you with anyone else tonight. Not even Gilrael."

"Speaking of the princess; I have an observation, my Lord," Isilmei said. He could tell that she was trying to lighten her mood, but her smile failed to reach her eyes as she peered up at him.

"Which is?" He wound an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him as they walked under an arch of fragrant blossoms dripping luxuriously from a low trellis. He smiled at the memory that rose within his mind of the first time he kissed Isilmei, knowing that he would always be reminded of that moment when he visited this particular part of the garden.

She snuggled her willowy frame against him and wove an arm around his body. "I have observed closely, and have decided my young cousin is quite correct."

Legolas smiled as he mimicked her courtly formality. "Correct about what, my Lady?" Perhaps if he played along with her gentle teasing, he could coax a true smile from her lips.

"You are very pretty."

Legolas frowned in mock annoyance as he looked down his nose at her. "She thinks you are pretty as well."

"I know. But not nearly so pretty as you. Especially in pink ribbon." He was pleased to see that as she said the words, her smile was almost genuine.

"She gets these notions from Eliel," he said with a shake of his head. He stopped then, seizing her wrist as she strode past him and turning her about to face him. "I know how to silence your pert tongue," he assured her as his other hand tipped her chin to meet his thorough kiss.

When next he looked into her eyes, he was relieved to see that his kiss seemed to calm her somewhat. Her expression was softer as she traced the line of his cheekbone with her fingertips. "I believe I am not pert enough by half." Her index finger brushed his lips as her gaze fell to his mouth. "Perhaps you should kiss me again so that we may find out."

Legolas made no comment, but pulled her firmly against his chest. He kissed her deeply and held her close enough that he could feel her heart beating in time with his through the thin layers of fabric separating them. She returned his kiss with ardor, her slender hands clutching at his back as though he were trying to slip away from her. He loved knowing that he was important to her, that she depended upon his presence in her life; but wished he had the words to calm her fears. Yet how could he when he did not truly understand them?

After a long, passionate moment he allowed the embrace to end so that he could lead her farther into the garden's privacy. He found this was where he liked her best, close against his side as the coolness of her long body soothed and refreshed him even on the warmest day. He watched as pale moonbeams danced in Isilmei's silver-gold hair, thinking how apt it was that her guardian had chosen to name her for the moonlight that accentuated her beauty so well. His intended was indeed a creature of the moon – luminous skin and bright eyes and shimmering hair that all seemed to absorb the light of Ithil and reflect it back into the darkness. She was fair by day, as were all their kind, but by night she was mesmerizing, radiant, and his alone.

She walked away from him as they approached the fountain to trail her fingertips through the splashing waters. Unwilling to let her out of his arms this last night before he had to leave her side; he stepped close behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. His left hand slid across her flat stomach to rest on the delicate point of her hipbone. As he pulled her against him, his right hand swept her hair away from one shoulder to bare the delicate line of her neck, the curve where neck met shoulder, which dipped into the hollow made by her collarbone. Her fair, unblemished skin glowed cool and inviting in the moonlight. He pressed his lips to the sensitive place just beneath her ear, the one that had made her moan so deliciously earlier that morning when he held her in his arms as they woke together.

"Legolas…"

He turned her within his arms so that he could see her dear face. "This morning was wonderful," he whispered, wanting her to see the depth of devotion in his eyes. "I want to wake with you like that always."

"Stay." She nibbled his bottom lip as she kissed him. "Wake with me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next." When she pulled back to meet his gaze, he could see the sincerity of her plea, and it was only then that he realized she had been waiting for just this opportunity to ask him not to ride with the army.

"I wish I could." The words surprised him as they left his mouth, not only because he had never hesitated to ride to battle before, but also because part of him truly did wish he could stay with her – even though his sense of duty would never permit it. He wondered fleetingly if this change was one of his own making, or another sign of her iron grip upon his heart.

"You can," she insisted, wrapping her arms about his neck and clinging to him as though he were trying to leave her that instant.

"I must ride." He felt a surge of reluctance and disappointment as he said the words and was saddened that such a passionate moment between them might be spoiled by talk of the looming campaign.

"You are our lord now," she said as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "You do not have to put yourself in danger."

In spite of his desire to erase the creeping dread clouding her eyes, her words pricked something sensitive inside him. Was it his temper? His pride? "You would have me send another in my place? _Who_ would you recommend?" As the words left his mouth he realized that his tone was sharper than he had intended and full of reproof for her suggestion.

Isilmei's expression fell. "I did not mean that the way it sounded." She let her arms drop from his shoulders and stepped out of his arms. When she turned back to face him, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I meant that your life is different now than it was during the Ring War. You have different responsibilities, a different destiny."

Legolas drew in a calming breath before he spoke to ensure that his tone was one of sincerity and understanding instead of censure. "I ride tomorrow to protect that new life, those responsibilities you mention." He reached toward her and caught up her hands, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "Our new home. My life with you. I have never commanded troops into danger without leading them there myself. I am not the sort that can sit back and watch while others handle obligations I consider my own."

Her eyes dropped toward her slippered feet. "I fail to understand why anyone must ride to battle. I have listened, and listened, and listened these last few days, and no one has said anything about attempting to negotiate with the Haradrim. Should we not try to achieve a peaceful solution before putting _anyone_ in harm's way?"

"The villagers they have slaughtered on their march north did not deliberately put themselves in harm's way, Isil." He shook his head at her naïveté. "That choice was made for them when the Southrons fell upon their settlements in the middle of the night and set fire to every structure." He paused before saying more because he did not wish to give her more to worry about, but he wanted her to understand the seriousness of the threat they faced. "They have murdered innocent women and children. The villagers were given no chance to flee or seek aid. They were exterminated like vermin. How can those actions be interpreted in any way other than as a declaration of war?"

As he expected, she paled as she listened to his words, yet she was insistent about making her point. "It just seems to me that all of this has happened so quickly, with something akin to…" Isilmei paused to shrug one shoulder as she sought the right word, "glee at worst, anticipation at best. I do not understand why everyone seems so keen on rushing to battle."

He drew in a sharp breath to protest her characterization of their war preparations, but held his tongue when he saw tears spring to her eyes. She dropped her gaze from his, swallowed, and raised her eyes again just as quickly. He could feel the anxious thrum of her pulse where his fingers touched her wrist. He waited while she gathered her thoughts in hopes that if she talked through what bothered her so much, the way to reassure her would become clear to him.

Fighting for control of her voice, Isilmei pressed on. "I am exceedingly uneasy about this quest, and wish that _none_ of you was going to be part of it. I fear something terrible will happen to you, Legolas. The dream…I think it may have been a vision. Please do not do this."

'_Ah,'_ he thought. So that was it. The bad dream that caused her to come to him the night before still troubled her. "It was just a dream, Isil," he said gently. "There is nothing to fear from it. And there is nothing to fear from this mission either. You will see that we will return before you have had time to miss me. I do not wish to upset you, nor do I wish to be temporarily separated from you. But I could not live with myself if I did not do _everything_ in my power to protect you, and the home I have built for you. The invaders _must_ be pushed out of Ithilien. I could not rest easy knowing there was any danger waiting there for you, or the rest of our people."

She frowned as she withdrew her hands from his to slide her arms around his waist and lean against him. "Is there not some other way, love? As much as you say you want to keep me safe, can you not understand that I want the same for you? That the thought of your putting yourself into danger terrifies me? What if I lose you?"

"You will never lose me." He said the words casually, confidently, for he was certain of his prowess and equally certain of the outcome of their pending mission. It surprised him when she jumped away from his arms as though scalded.

"You cannot make me that promise! Do not say such things!" Her hands rose in front of her as if to ward off an attack.

Legolas closed the distance between them, gently taking her elbows in his hands. "I know you are worried, love, but you will see that everything will be fine. I _know_ that this will go our way. But as much as I hate to leave you, right now my place is at the king's side."

His words did not have the intended effect, for she drew into herself as though he had struck her. Instead of settling, she grew more agitated. "There are those who might argue that your place is at the side of your intended," Isilmei replied as the warmth in her eyes frosted over.

Legolas felt a sense of dread at the cold sharpness in her tone even as a wave of dark incredulity flared within him to clash with the warm sympathy his heart contained for her. He struggled to control his temper and his voice as he raised his thumbs to gently brush away the tears quavering at the ends of her long lashes. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree with that assertion, but now is the exception. When my leaving can help assure the safety of my intended, then leaving her temporarily is something I shall gladly do."

His soft tone could not curb her mounting anxiety, and he could see that she was determined to press on with her line of thought. He had never seen such distrust and doubt in her eyes when she looked at him, and he felt himself growing defensive in response. He was quite sure that he had never given her any reason to doubt his word or judgment, so why was she acting this way?

"Even if the quest may not be justified?" Her voice was somber, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

The ember of disbelief in his heart flared quickly into a flame of anger at her audacity. He knew she had differing opinions on matters of warfare – many healers were pacifists by nature – but Legolas's long experience gave him the confidence to face this latest struggle. "I am unsure of your meaning, yet sincerely hope that it is not as base as you allude. Aragorn would not be riding to battle if there were other options. Do you presume to second-guess the king?"

Her expression cooled another few degrees as she drew herself up to her full height, eyes flashing as she glared up at him. "Legolas, I do not question Aragorn's abilities, or his intentions. His heart is pure in all things. Yet I cannot help wondering why no one has bothered to _negotiate_ with the Southrons before meeting them in battle. Does anyone know what motivates their attacks? Has there been _any_ move made to settle this crisis peacefully without engaging in warfare? Should not diplomacy at least be given a chance?"

He could not understand why she was being so obstinate about this issue, but felt his patience rapidly reaching its end. "There is a time for diplomacy," Legolas snapped testily, "and there is a time for _action_. Aragorn has made his decision and it is not my place, nor is it _yours_, to question it. Even if it were my place to do so, I would not, for I happen to agree with him. We have faced many challenges together, he and I. We know the difference between political protest and overt aggression. Why do you not trust us?"

Isilmei stood her ground determinedly, matching the hot fires of his anger with the cold shards of her own. "How can we know whether or not the risk of your lives is necessary when no one has even attempted to engage them in talks? Are you truly so hardened as to think that bloodshed is the only answer to every difference of opinion? Perhaps the Southrons feel that striking out is the only way to get the attention of the crown."

Legolas waved a hand dismissively, his temper high and his patience exhausted. This was a ridiculous conversation and he could not believe that, on their last night together before their separation, they were arguing. "It matters not. The decision has been made and the time has come. My duty in this is to Aragorn, and I will ride into whatever danger I must in order to stand by his side, regardless of his cause or whether or not _you_ perceive it to be just."

Isilmei's jaw fell open and she stood before him mute and staring. He worked to stifle his temper as he watched her struggle with her emotions. He was only slightly mollified to see that this conversation was as awful for her as it was for him. He reached for her, wanting to pull her into his arms and put an end to this nonsense, but she flinched from his touch as though it burned her. A sense of horror began to creep through his blood at the brittle fury twisting her features.

"How much of this quest is desire to do your duty," she began, her voice holding a deadly quiet that was so unlike her normal lilt it surprised him, "and how much is desire to satiate your bloodlust, the desire of you both to recapture the thrill of adventure? Has it been too quiet for you since Sauron was defeated?"

Legolas's fury flared anew at the unfairness of her accusation. _'Does she really know so little about me?' _A charged silence endured between them for long moments as two pairs of equally willful eyes refused to blink.

"You are too bold by half, Isilmei," he finally said, managing to keep his tone of voice even but struggling mightily to contain his rage. His hands were curled into fists at his sides. "You know not of what you speak, you who spends her time tending children and assisting in the Houses of Healing. You who have been sheltered by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel all your life. What could you possibly know of the difficulty of leaving loved ones behind to ride _into_ danger?"

"We have pledged to build a life together, Legolas," she said in a dangerous tone more impressive because of its deceptively soft edge. He could see that there was precious little softness left in her heart at the moment. "I believe that entitles me to speak freely, and never would I have imagined that one as far-traveled as you could have such a narrow, closed mind. It is true that my guardians did their best to protect me from the baser instincts of Men and Elves, but do not deceive yourself into thinking I do not know duty, or that my life has never been touched by war. If you will recall my parents were killed when I was but an infant. I lost…" He saw her swallow as though choking on her thought before she was able to continue. "…_companions_ during the Ring War, even though I never saw the fighting. And when the wounded came into the healing wards, _I_ was among those who tended their hurts and stitched up their injuries. _I_ was among those who held their family members and cried with them when a loved one failed to recover. Perhaps I have never been to war, but I _know_ what the aftermath of battle looks like."

Legolas felt a sudden rush of grief and guilt flood his heart. How could he have forgotten what she went through? How could he have forgotten how deeply she grieved for Haldir? Was he so certain of her love now that he had already forgotten how long he had to wait for her heart to heal so that she could give it to him? He felt a fool, and tried to tell her so, but Isilmei's momentum built as she continued speaking.

Her wintry fury drained all color from her already pale cheeks. "Were Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel not kind enough to raise me as their own, I do not know where life's path may have led me. Though certainly not here, to the feet of a quarrelsome, war-mongering ellon who belittles and ridicules anyone who dares have a different opinion. I am coming to realize that you are more like your father than I thought. I do not know you as well as I imagined."

Her insult stung painfully in spite of his remorse over his hurtful words and the terrible turn the evening had taken. Her comparison to his father was too sore a point for him to overlook. "Indeed, it seems as such," he seethed through clenched teeth. He was too confused and angry to say more, wanting for the first time in his recollection to leave her side and be alone so that he could collect his thoughts.

"Perhaps this evening has spared us from making a terrible mistake."

He nodded once, his entire royal upbringing evident in the gesture. "It is possible. It is _definite_, however, that this conversation has reached its end. Perhaps..."

"Indeed, _Lord Legolas_," she interrupted with a sarcastic curtsy. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. I leave you to your solitude."

Before Legolas could gather his wits about him to say one word more, her swift feet carried her silently away from him. His need to reclaim her warred with his ire as Legolas stood in what had become a fell night indeed.

"Isil…" he called as he turned to watch her go, but she was already gone. There was no trace of her to indicate she had ever stood beside him. His heart screamed at him to run after her, take her in his arms and make her understand that no harsh words could ever come between them. Yet he was too angry with her to force his feet into motion.

He paced around the garden, clasping his hands behind his back as he tried to untangle his emotions. The more he thought about it, his mind insisted that perhaps it was best that they parted this way, absurd though the notion seemed to his heart. He was determined to see his mission through to the end; but equally determined that once the fighting was over, he would return to Isilmei and their angry words would be forgotten in favor of joyous reunion. Perhaps her anger would help her miss him less sharply and the time apart would help them both gain some much-needed perspective.

'_Aye,'_ he decided. Her anger would insulate her from any worry she may feel for him. _'It is better this way,'_ he assured himself as he turned to make his way back to his chamber and what he knew would be a decidedly restless night. _'All will be well in the end. It has to be.'_

TBC…


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31: Anxious Waiting and Devastating Complications**

_One month later…_

After the warriors departed, Arwen and Isilmei did their best to attend to the needs of the realm and ignore the worries nibbling at the corners of their minds. Isilmei had considerably less experience with times of war than her cousin, and felt her fears like knife bites whenever she considered the horrors she dreaded would befall Legolas during battle. She found frenetic activity the best way to stave off her worries, and so offered every aid she could to Gondor's queen and her young children. Isilmei slept little, and ate even less, preferring to focus on anything that would keep her mind off the angry words she and Legolas exchanged on the eve of his departure.

For long hours Isilmei helped the sisters in the Houses of Healing. The city's healers prepared diligently to treat the injured who would no doubt be soon returning from the campaign. Having assisted with similar preparations in Lorien throughout the Ring War, Isilmei was well-versed in the kind of work required.

When she was not in the healing wards, she and Míril often guided the children through their daily activities while Arwen saw to the needs of Gondor's citizenry. Eldarion had turned into a keen student of history, so his Auntie Pearl – along with Master Idhrenor, the historian from Mithlond who had joined Legolas's traveling party to chronicle the establishment of the last Elven settlement on the bent world – spent part of each day tutoring him in the lore of his mother's people.

Little Estelwen was still practically a babe in arms, but it was plain that in the princesses Eliel and Gilrael, the king and queen had two very different yet equally bright spirits. Eliel's fascination with her mother, combined with her developing sense of duty compelled her to study every move her mother made, as if to learn the ways of governance through simple observation. Precocious Gilrael, on the other hand, showed the proclivity to rule with a casual, confident hand. At the tender age of five she had already shown an accurate and sharp eye when it came to character, and could – and often did – pronounce with great certainty, and great accuracy, what someone would or would not be likely to do in any given situation. She also had a talent for making these pronouncements at inopportune times – inopportune for those being spoken about, usually. The queen often found it necessary to remind court officials to speak prudently when in the presence of the children.

As the days stretched one into the other, Isilmei developed the habit of staring out the windows of the Queen's Parlor to watch the sun sink slowly westward each evening. Isilmei's teeth worried her bottom lip and her hands harassed the folds of her gown as she craned her neck to look toward the south, anxiously waiting for the victorious company to ride over the horizon and into the gates of the city. Early one evening when Lady Míril had gone to the Ithilien guest residence to visit with those few others of Legolas's company who remained behind, Isilmei found herself alone with Arwen in the parlor.

"What troubles you, Isil?"

Isilmei, whose temper shortened by the day, turned from the window long enough to shoot her cousin an impatient glare.

Arwen returned the gesture with a benign smile. "Talk to me, dear one. We sit here, as days pass and chores come and go, yet neither of us has given voice to our disquiet. We are all worried when our loved ones are in harm's way, but I sense that other dark thoughts plague you. What is wrong?"

Arwen's question hung in the air for a long moment. Isilmei began to speak, but decided instead to shake her head silently and return her gaze to the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Arwen studying her even as she refused to meet the queen's concerned gaze.

When it became apparent that Isilmei would not yet unburden herself, Arwen chose another approach. "Those are lovely combs you wear. I note you have worn them nearly every day this past month, so they must have special significance to you. They are so pretty that Eli has asked for a pair just like them."

Isilmei felt her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed and managed to say, "Thank you," as she lifted one hand to touch the butterfly formed by the pair of combs that held back her hair. Her mind's eye could vividly picture the smiling face of the one who had presented them to her.

"You looked so sad when she asked you about them at breakfast this morning."

Isilmei took a deep breath and held it for a long moment before slowly releasing it. "They were a gift from Haldir," she said. "He made them for me."

"How thoughtful of him," Arwen said quietly.

Isilmei turned to lean against the windowsill, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she crossed her arms over her chest and finally met Arwen's gaze. "He gave them to me shortly before he left, and carried one of them with him on his journey. His brother returned it to me after his death. I have thought of Haldir often in recent weeks. More so than usual."

"Because Legolas is away on campaign?" Though she phrased her thought as a question, Isilmei could tell that there was very little uncertainty in Arwen's mind.

"Because of the campaign," Isilmei said with a shake of her head. "It is a complicated thing, I suppose. To love another."

Arwen gave a brief laugh as her lips quirked into a small smile. "There is no question. Giving the heart to another is the most dangerous thing we can do, for when we do so we become vulnerable. We willingly open ourselves up to being hurt. That goes for anyone, but for those of us who are Firstborn, loving is even more treacherous considering the damage losing a mate can inflict upon the survivor."

Isilmei felt the truth of Arwen's words in the pain that lingered in her heart. "Recently I have realized that one can spend years recovering from a loss, repairing a hurt, and think the work finished only to be taken by surprise. I thought I had moved past losing Haldir – and the pain his loss caused me – when I gave my heart to Legolas. But then this trouble with the Haradrim developed and Legolas rode away. And now I realize just how high a price I have paid to love again." She shrugged one shoulder as her weariness weighed heavily upon her spirit. "I fear I shall lose Legolas too. I do not mean to sound histrionic, but I doubt I can survive another loss of that magnitude."

"I cannot imagine that will be your fate," Arwen said reassuringly. "Surely the Valar would not have gifted you with love a second time only to take it away again."

Isilmei wished she dared believe her cousin's words, feeling her spirit reach out for Legolas to find only emptiness and quiet along the horizon. "I do not share your certainty," she finally said. "But I have begun to understand why the Valar so seldom choose to bless our kind with more than one love in a lifetime. I foolishly thought I was richly blessed, but now I wonder whether or not that is the case."

"Isil, do not look upon their gift lightly." Arwen's blue eyes were dark with admonishment when Isilmei lifted her gaze.

"I do not take it lightly at all, Arwen. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Legolas loves you so dearly," Arwen persisted. "He loved you from afar for years before you were ready to return his love. Yet he waited patiently and contented himself with your friendship until you were able to give him more. He did not need to make so many trips to Minas Tirith to apprise Aragorn of the colony's progress. He came to see you."

"I know. I was unaware then, but he has since told me." Isilmei allowed herself a sad smile as she pictured his face lit up in laughter, the way his eyes shone with joy when she accepted his proposal. She loved her golden lord dearly and felt his absence keenly, even more so with the taint of their argument lingering in her heart. He had become the source of her solace and peace, and without him she felt oddly adrift.

Arwen's expression sank as she watched Isilmei's emotions play across her face. "Have you changed your mind about binding yourself to him? You still wear his ring."

"No," Isilmei said emphatically as she curled her right hand into her chest as though Arwen had reached out to take the ring. "I love Legolas. I want to be his wife. I want the future we have planned together. But I loved Haldir too, and I wanted the future I thought I would have with him. I think a piece of my heart will always belong to Haldir alone." She was silent for a moment. "When Haldir led our army to Rohan, it never occurred to me that he would not return. I was confident that he would come back to me. His was such a steady presence in my life that once we plighted our troth, I never imagined I would lose him. I am not so confident this time. I feel as though I might have lost Legolas already. And while I want nothing more than to be his, I am not certain he still feels the same way."

Arwen shook her head. "I do not understand, Isil. Tell me what you mean."

Isilmei thought that her cousin sounded rather like their grandmother. Her voice was gentle, yet communicated quite clearly that she was not going to let the topic drop until it had been explored to her satisfaction. Abandoning her post beside the window, Isilmei began to pace slow circles around the cold stone floor. Drawing in a deep breath, Isilmei confessed her sins. "I have done a shameful thing, Arwen. I long only to repent, yet the one to whom I owe my penitence is gone."

Arwen regarded her cousin carefully. "What happened?"

"We quarreled," Isilmei said quietly.

"You argued with Legolas, knowing he was preparing for battle?" Arwen repeated with obvious disapproval.

"Yes," Isilmei admitted despondently. "The night before the army left, Legolas and I visited the garden, as has become our custom. The conversation quickly turned to the recent trouble, and his imminent departure. I understand that Legolas and Aragorn are as close as brothers, and I understand that sense of duty, yet I…" She choked on her words, too horrified by what she had done to say more.

Arwen nodded to prompt her to continue. When Isilmei hesitated, Arwen spoke encouraging words. "Share your burden with me, cousin. I have no doubt it will seem less dire once examined under the light of day."

Isilmei turned sad eyes toward Arwen as her heart filled with self-loathing. "Would that I shared your confidence, for in my heart I know that I wronged him. Memories of what happened in Lorien combined with my reservations about this new war to overcome my better judgment. My words to him on that last evening were not of love and support, rather they were words of anger and resentment and fear. Legolas deserves far better from me, and at a time when he should have been able to depend upon my faith in him, I failed him. As final insult I accused him of being in love with the thrill of battle, and of being too much like his father."

The expression in her cousin's blue eyes was considerably harder when Isilmei risked a fretful glance over her shoulder. "I realize that you would never have intentionally hurt him," Arwen said tightly, "but I am sure your words weighed heavily on his heart as he rode out."

"I know," Isilmei agreed, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. "The night before our argument I had a vision, or a dream, I am still not sure which. I tried to put it out of my mind, I truly did; but it terrified me so much that I spoke out of that fear. When I told him about it, he dismissed my concerns. When I asked why there had been no attempt to negotiate a peaceful end to the trouble before committing to battle he said I had no knowledge of what I spoke."

Arwen's mouth twitched in irritation. "You were not here when the reports came in," she said. "You did not hear the struggles Faramir and his rangers engaged in trying to dislodge the Southrons."

"I know that now," Isilmei said. "But he was so infuriating, so smug, so…_dismissive_. I let my temper get the best of me. We both did. I worry that should Legolas fall in battle, the last words he heard from me did not convey the love that my heart holds for him. I want nothing more than to apologize to him now, yet I do not know that he will be willing to hear it, and I greatly fear that I may never have the chance."

Isilmei could see disappointment in her cousin's blue gaze and felt reduced to a small elfling taken to task for bad behavior. It was the same look Arwen employed when scolding her children, and Isilmei realized it was terribly effective regardless of one's age. Shame sank heavily to the pit of Isilmei's stomach as her cheeks and ears colored with embarrassment. She opened her mouth to apologize again but was preempted by Arwen's voice.

"I feel sure that what you saw was a dream and not a vision, Isil." A hint of understanding softened Arwen's tone. "I have received no dire warnings regarding our current troubles. I saw that the Haradrim were advancing north shortly before Aragorn received the first report, but nothing has come to me since. While I have never been able to summon visions the way that Grandmother and Ada do, I believe I would know it if something terrible was about to happen to those we hold dear. Surely your experience was no more than a bad dream conjured by your anxieties."

Isilmei closed her eyes and took several deep, even breaths as her head began to swim. Arwen's words were a balm to her wounded spirit and she hoped with all her might that her cousin was correct. Yet somehow, in the very depths of her spirit, she could _feel_ that something dangerous loomed in the near future.

"Hear me now," Arwen said as she motioned for Isilmei to take a seat beside her. She watched silently as Isilmei sat down and folded her hands in her lap before covering the younger elleth's hands with one of her own. "Legolas will return with Aragorn in victory. You will see. Your love for Legolas is evident even in the way you speak his name, and I happen to know that his eyes are lit from within each time his gaze rests upon you. A better match I have not often seen, for you anchor him, and he sets you free. He will return, and you will persuade him that it was your love and your worry for him that prompted your harsh words. I have known Legolas a long while now, and have great respect for his wisdom. He will hear you, he will understand, and he will apologize for his own role in your argument."

Isilmei clung desperately to the encouragement that Arwen offered, feeling a small sense of peace begin to settle over her heart for the first time in days. Before she could reply a heavy knock sounded at the door.

"Enter," the queen called loudly enough to be heard by the party on the other side.

Two soldiers came into the room, their silver mail shining brightly beneath black velvet doublets embroidered with Gondor's tree-and-stars. Between them walked one of the elder sisters from the Houses of Healing.

"Your Majesty. My Lady," said the senior man, bowing to Arwen and Isilmei in turn. "There is news from the front. I regret to inform you that we bring heavy tidings."

Arwen and Isilmei exchanged anxious glances as the queen bade the man to speak. "Tell us what troubles you, Captain."

The old woman took up the tale, for clearly it was hers to tell. "Your Majesty, the story is not long, but it distresses us greatly to bring it to you and the Lady Isilmei."

Isilmei issued a strangled gasp as Arwen tightened her grip on Isilmei's fingers. "Something has happened, hasn't it?" Isilmei asked. "Something dreadful?"

The sister nodded. "Yes, my Lady. The wounded are beginning to return from the battlefield, and one that has recovered enough to speak has asked to see you."

Exchanging worried glances, the two ellith picked up their cloaks and hurried to follow the guards and sister to the Houses of Healing.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

Walking quickly, they soon arrived at the healing complex and hurried the sister toward the wounded soldier. Arwen gave small nods of acknowledgement to those who spoke and others that she recognized, noting that Isilmei stared straight ahead with eyes that had grown too large for her face. A brittleness had crept into her cousin's posture in recent days that worried Arwen more than she wanted to admit.

At the end of a long corridor they were led into a small treatment room. A man lay limp and pale on the narrow cot with thick white bandages surrounding his head. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but enough of his face was unmarred that Arwen was able to recognize him even before her eyes fell upon the woman sitting beside him. This was Caldor, a man of the King's Guard. The woman beside him was their own Gilly, who was heavy with Caldor's child. With a quick, tight smile to her kind-hearted maid, Arwen knelt beside the bed and took Caldor's free hand in her own. Isilmei stood at her shoulder.

"Caldor, have they taken good care of you? Is there anything you lack?" Arwen asked.

He smiled wanly at her through his pain. "I am sorry, my queen, that I did not keep my feet long enough to fight beside the king until the battle was won. When last I saw him, he was well."

Arwen gave his hand a squeeze, favoring him with a grateful smile. "This news is well met, thank you. Will you be well also?"

The sister standing on the other side of his bed nodded. "He sustained several nasty cuts, and a large bruise to his head, but is responding well to treatment. He will heal."

Gilly's bright brown eyes flooded with grateful tears as she gripped her husband's hand.

"Except for the headache I feel fine," Caldor insisted. "I missed the arm swinging at my head until it was too late, and lost my wits."

"That is probably fortunate for you, Caldor, if your lack of consciousness kept you from more serious harm." Arwen knew that a warrior hated to leave the battle before its conclusion, but for the sake of his wife sitting so faithfully beside him and their unborn child, she was glad that the man was safely returned to Minas Tirith, and relatively unharmed.

Caldor smiled thinly. "I'm sure you are correct."

Arwen glanced back at her cousin who stood twisting her hands in her skirt before prompting the man to tell his tale. "What it is you wish us to know?"

"We outnumber the Southrons, but they are wild with determination and well prepared. They charged us just as we stopped to make camp for the night. It was hard to tell friend from foe in the darkness. Just before I was struck from behind…" Caldor paused to draw in a pained breath and glanced uneasily at the elleth standing at Arwen's shoulder, "I witnessed a group of the enemy rush the king. I saw King Elessar lose his mount but regain his feet. The last I saw was several of the Southrons…" he paused again to cast sorrowful eyes toward Isilmei. "They struck down the king's companion, Lord Legolas, and killed him with their swords."

Arwen's breath caught in her throat at the terrible news. In the same instant Isilmei's nervous fingers stopped moving. Her only reaction was to stand as though frozen in time. Arwen felt her blood turn to ice in her veins as she stared at the injured soldier. "Caldor," she said in a low, shocked voice, "are you quite certain?"

He looked truly saddened to be the bearer of such tidings, and cast a pitying glance at the silent Isilmei. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said quietly.

"No." The word was accompanied by a firm, slow shake of Isilmei's blonde head, as if by willpower alone she could change the course of history. "You must be mistaken. It cannot be as you say." A distant look had already begun to settle over her normally keen expression.

Arwen turned to the two guards who had accompanied them from her parlor with a regal glare. "Send word to your fastest riders. I want an update from the fields. And I want it immediately."

The men bowed, hastening backward toward the door. Fighting her own sickening disappointment and sorrow, she turned back to Caldor, giving his hand another squeeze. "I know these tidings were not easy for you to bear. Rest now, and heal. Gilly will take good care of you."

Without another word, Isilmei threw a hand up to her mouth as if to ward off illness. As unchecked tears slid down her cheeks, she turned on her heel and fled from the room.

Arwen rose to follow her cousin but paused by the open door when Gilly's voice reached her ears. "Your Majesty, would you please tell Lady Isilmei how sorry I am for her loss? If there is anything that either of us can do for her, we will gladly do it."

When she turned back to look at the couple, she saw genuine sympathy on both their faces. Remembering the root of the friendship that had grown between her cousin and the young woman sitting before her, Arwen pushed aside her own sadness to give the girl a soft smile. "You are very kind, Gillyflower. I will let her know, and I thank you for your condolences. I will leave word that you are to be relieved of your duties for several days so that you can take care of your husband. If there is anything you need that the nurses cannot provide for you, send word to me and you shall have it."

Caldor eased himself more fully into his bedding. "I am truly sorry to bear such ill tidings, Majesty. I know that Lady Isilmei and Lord Legolas were to be wed."

"It is a dark day indeed," Arwen agreed as she swallowed a rush of tears and made to follow Isilmei. "I must see to her." With a sweep of midnight skirts she left them to their privacy.

Arwen's long legs carried her swiftly toward the King's House. She found her cousin exactly where she expected to find her, in the garden Legolas had so lovingly landscaped. It was a stunning place, both by night and by day, alive and vibrant with arrogant blossoms and their heady perfumes. The dazzling floral display juxtaposed oddly to the bereaved creature that languished there on bended knees. Isilmei made no move to acknowledge Arwen's presence, even when she knelt so that she could look fully into the face of the younger elleth. Arwen noted with alarm that Isilmei's entire body seemed to tremble, as would a sapling in a gale. "Cousin," she said as she reached out to hold her.

"This cannot be!" Isilmei exclaimed, flinching at Arwen's touch and springing up to pace frantically about the garden. "It cannot be, and yet," she turned pleading eyes to Arwen as the horror of the situation began to fully dawn on both their faces, "it is. It is just as I feared, he is dead. _Legolas_, he…" She drove quaking hands into the hair at her temples as if to drive the soldier's tale out of her mind.

Arwen watched in sorrow as heaving sobs began to wrack her cousin's body. She rushed to embrace the younger elleth, arriving just as Isilmei's heartbreak became too much for her legs to bear.

"Isil, please, I beg you not to abandon all hope too quickly," Arwen pleaded. "Our riders will go forth immediately. Perhaps there has been some mistake. You must hold to your faith a little longer."

"It is as I have foreseen," the fractured elleth gasped between sobs. "Even before he left, with our angry words between us, I knew that something terrible would happen to him. And now it has come to pass. I knew my dread was founded, Arwen, and now we have proof. I could have saved him if I had been able to convince him to stay in the city. I feel as though I stabbed him myself and now, he…I cannot speak it."

Arwen held her own sorrow at bay as she held fast to her cousin's quaking shoulders. The sense of desolation in the garden grew more prominent with each passing moment. Gondor's queen silently begged for news that would erase the day's sorrow from their hearts, even as she secretly feared the worst.

TBC…


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32: Triumphant Returns and Interrupted Reconciliation**

_Two weeks later…_

Aragorn and his company rode toward the White City in tired relief. Their quest was over, the enemy vanquished. But rather than the accomplishment he thought he should feel, the king longed only for the loving arms of his wife, the peaceful quiet of their bedchamber, and the golden rays of dawn lighting his city.

Beside him, Legolas looked eagerly over the ears of his horse toward the Citadel. Aragorn watched with a grin as his old friend looked at each of the windows in turn, floor by floor.

"I am sure she watches for you, brother," he encouraged in quiet Sindarin. "No doubt she will be at the feet of your mount ere he draws to a halt."

Legolas returned the knowing smirk Aragorn sent him with a grin as traces of color crept across his chiseled cheekbones. "I hope it will be so," Legolas said quietly, peering quickly over his shoulder to determine whether any of his Elven warriors monitored their conversation. "She was displeased with me when we left."

Aragorn's smile grew even broader. "I have it on good authority that – Isilmei's recent fit of temper notwithstanding – there is nothing and no one in Middle-earth she likes better than you."

Legolas grimaced. "Strange that did not seem to protect me from her discontent, or her barbed tongue."

The king laughed aloud. "Ah, but you would not find her so fascinating if she were less of a challenge, now would you?"

Legolas scowled at him, shaking his head in disapproval when Aragorn's smile turned into another peal of laughter. Aragorn was still chuckling as Legolas resumed studying the Tower of Ecthelion as it pierced the blue sky above them. It would be difficult even for Legolas's sharp eyes to make out an individual face from this distance, but he _might_ be able to spot the glint of sunlight off shining silver-gold hair if his lady love was keeping watch for him.

Gondor's king understood his friend's state of mind. Love was never an easy mistress to harbor, and when one had been lonely as long as Legolas had; it was difficult to grow comfortable with any other emotion. Though it was not unheard for Elves of noble birth to delay bonding, Legolas had waited far longer than was normal, and had grown accustomed to leading a largely solitary existence. Aragorn knew that his friend's life was about to change in ways new and surprising, and hoped he would find his new life fulfilling.

Since Aragorn himself was complicit in Arwen's plan of pairing Legolas and Isilmei together, he felt a keen interest in the relationship that had developed between his friend and his wife's cousin. He and Arwen both felt that the two were well matched, even if sparks had flown between them before this latest campaign. An argument was uncharacteristic of both of them, for Legolas was famously upbeat and level-headed and Isilmei was usually the soul of patience and understanding. But, Aragorn supposed, emotions naturally ran high before warfare, and considering the fact that Isilmei lost a suitor during the Ring War, it was hardly unexpected for her to have strong reservations about Legolas's involvement in the fighting.

How different the conversation between them must have been from that between himself and Arwen when the Fellowship was appointed. He had been so unsure of his path during those dark days, and it had been Arwen who encouraged him to pursue his destiny and promised him that he would be able to handle the test ahead of him. He felt for Legolas, who was so sure of himself and his decisions, but suffered terribly in his time away from his love for not being able to set things right between them before departing.

Aragorn's thoughts centered then on Arwen, and his heart filled with love and longing for her. They had been married for but a moment in the long life of an Elf, but Man's time did not pass the same way. In the years they had spent together, they grew and changed, but always their love for one another remained. Indeed, he was amazed that an emotion that could be so fleeting, so diaphanous, and more terrifying than all the dark forces of Mordor, could also provide an inner strength, a comfort, stronger and more real than any other.

After all the years he spent wandering the vastness of Middle-earth alone, living on the edge of so many peoples yet lacking true connection even to one, he still marveled at the many ways life had changed for him since the War of the Ring. In those days he never would have believed that he would be King of Gondor and Arnor, husband, father, and leader of a vast and valiant people. Sometimes the opportunities made his heart sing with promise, and other times the responsibilities weighed round his neck like a millstone.

It was in those darker times that he turned to his wife, his source of strength, and he knew that above all people, she would never fail him. He felt the warmth that grew in his chest at the mere thought of her and smiled a private little smile to himself. They were not often parted, but their reunions were always joyous. Aragorn rode on in silence after that, glancing back and forth from Ithilien's Elven lord to the shining tower growing ever closer before them, hoping with all his heart that Legolas and Isilmei would be able to enjoy the kind of happiness he and Arwen shared.

Aragorn and his company accepted hearty greetings from a throng of well wishers as they rode into the city and ascended toward the Citadel. He was proud and happy and relieved to be home, eager to hold his wife and his children in his arms and spend a few quiet days amongst family and friends. The army marched through the tunnel and halted at the Place of the Fountain, where the King congratulated his soldiers for their valor and their victory before dismissing them to their own homes and families with much praise and gratitude. He handed over the reins of his stallion to a stable boy with a request that his destrier receive an extra ration of grain before turning toward the King's House. It was only then that he caught the anxious expression on Legolas's face and glanced up the long staircase toward the heavy door. Orophin stood beside him, regarding the King's House with a furrowed brow as though he too, had noticed the conspicuous absence of a few very important ellith. The first prickling sensations of trouble tickled the back of Aragorn's mind. No Arwen. No Isilmei. No Míril. No laughing, excited children.

Wordlessly, Aragorn and the two ellyn hurried toward the steps. A footman greeted them with a low bow as he regarded Legolas with open shock. "Your Majesty, My Lord, welcome home. We are thankful to have you in Minas Tirith again. The queen will be most relieved to see you."

"Where is the queen?" Aragorn demanded. "Is she well? Where are the children?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the footman hastened to assure him. "The queen and the children are well. I'll take you to her."

The three warriors rushed the anxious man along his path. They climbed all three flights of stairs before finally stopping in front of a sleeping chamber. Aragorn's heart fell when he realized to whom this particular chamber had been assigned. The footman raised his arm to knock, but Aragorn pushed past him with Legolas and Orophin right on his heels.

The room was dark. Heavy drapes shrouded the windows, shutting out all natural light. A few flickering candles provided scant illumination. Two slender figures stood near the large bed, turning round as the door opened.

The ellith launched themselves across the room without a word. Lady Míril threw herself into Orophin's arms as Arwen reached out for her husband.

"Aragorn! Legolas! You have come home," Arwen said in frantic Sindarin, mindless of the footman who stood silently by the door. After hugging Aragorn tightly, she pulled out of his arms to embrace their friend. "Legolas, I am so thankful to see you. And so grieved to tell you what has occurred during your absence."

Legolas did not attempt to hide the worry twisting his features. "What has happened? Where is Isil?" As he asked the question, Arwen's expression grew darker.

Aragorn reached for his wife, wanting nothing more than to soothe the worry from her brow. She was so strong. No matter what challenge she faced, she kept her composure. He had never seen her so disquieted. "Arwen, what is it?" He deliberately switched to the Common Tongue in effort to get her to focus on his question. "Tell us what's wrong."

From somewhere to the side, he heard Orophin whisper words of reassurance to his intended, the elleth's soft sniffle. Arwen took a deep breath as she glanced back at the bed. Legolas and Aragorn followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the outline of a body underneath the bedclothes. Swearing under his breath, Legolas dashed toward the bed while Arwen began to relate her tale.

As they listened to her story, the three ellyn regarded each other in open shock. Most of the ambush had happened as she described.

"Caldor must have been struck down before the rally," Aragorn concluded. "We were surrounded, and Legolas and I were both knocked to the ground. If not for timely assistance from some of Eomer's men, things might have ended differently."

Legolas looked down at the pale, still form lying in the bed. He reached forward as if to touch Isilmei, but stopped, unsure of what to say or do. "Arwen, please," he said, lapsing back into his native tongue and old familiarity with the queen. "What happened? What is wrong with her?"

Her blue eyes shone with sympathy as she put a hand on his shoulder while Aragorn moved closer to the bed. "Isilmei was with me when the sister from the Houses of Healing came to tell us Caldor wished to speak with us. She went wild with grief when she heard you were killed. There was nothing we could do or say to abate her sorrow. I sent scouts, trying to invalidate the story, but they must have met the returning army along road for they have not reported back to me. We thought you were dead. When she lost hope that there had been some mistake, it was as though a great wind blew out the candles in her eyes. She collapsed, and has not awakened since."

Aragorn reached out to wrap his arm about Arwen's waist, for he could see that she was near the end of her endurance. There were tears in her voice and on her face when she continued speaking. "For days I have watched by morning and by night as my cousin has faded in front of me. We thought we had lost you, and I rejoice that Caldor was mistaken and that you are among us where you belong. But I fear greatly that Isilmei is beyond our help."

Aragorn suspected that it was because he was now back at her side that Arwen allowed the toll of the last days to show on her lovely face. Silent tears snaked their way down her cheeks, and when he put both arms around her, she let herself lean against his chest. They watched as their dear friend stood helpless beside the fading elleth they had both come to consider part of their family.

"I will see what I can do for her, my love," Aragorn whispered against Arwen's hair. "Surely there is some hope left."

Legolas looked at them sharply, desperate hope flaring in his eyes.

"I know not," she confessed. "I have only rudimentary training in the healing arts. You and my brothers studied under Adar, not I. The sisters in the healing houses have been unable to help her. I fear she may be beyond even your aid, Aragorn. Her heart is broken. I sent a bird to Grandfather some weeks ago. If anyone can help her, he can, and I suspect that the twins will arrive with him. I did not know what else to do." She looked up then into her husband's face before turning to Legolas with an obviously leaden heart. "I grieve with you, my friend," she said.

With a heavy sigh, Aragorn reached out to grasp his friend by the shoulder. "Come, Legolas," he said with a voice filled with compassion. "I will go to the Houses of Healing to gather some herbs and then will see what I can do for her. Have a meal and some rest. It was a hard ride back and even you must be tired. Lord Celeborn will not tarry to reach Isilmei's side."

Legolas shook his head stubbornly as his eyes remained fixed on Isilmei's ghostly pale face. "No." He sat lightly on the edge of the bed and picked up Isilmei's hand, wrapping it in both of his own and attempting to rub some warmth into her skin. "If I had not left her to fight, this would not have happened. I will not leave her again."

Arwen and Aragorn exchanged worried looks at the rising panic in Legolas's voice. At some point during the exchange, Aragorn realized as he glanced over his shoulder, Orophin and Míril had silently withdrawn from the room. With a heavy heart Aragorn took his wife's hand and gave it a gentle tug. Arwen allowed her husband to lead her toward the door so that Legolas could have some privacy with his grief.

TBC…


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33: Haunting Memories and Days of Waiting**

_Two days later…_

Alone with his betrothed and his sorrow, Legolas stared at the creature on the bed. Barely did she resemble the luminous elleth he left behind. Her light had dimmed nearly to nothingness, flickering as fitfully as a guttering candle. Her body had wasted away to leave her slender limbs fragile and the features of her face overly prominent. Legolas feared that if he picked her up and held her as tightly as his arms ached to, she might shatter in his grasp and scatter upon the winds. Perhaps that was why Arwen kept the draperies tightly closed.

Most disturbing of all was the fact that Isilmei's eyes were shut. Among their kind, only those critically ill closed their eyes in slumber. Her blue gaze was hidden from his view, her thick dark lashes resting on pallid cheeks. It was a most unnatural sight.

'_How could this happen?'_ he asked himself over and over. _'How could a simple mistake have such horrific consequences?'_

"My sweet Isil," he whispered brokenly, bending low and caressing the soft hair at her temple. "I am here. I am home. Come back to me."

As he sat, and watched, and waited, Legolas found his thoughts straying to happier times. The morning after they pledged themselves to one another, they asked for a private audience with his brother after breaking fast. Ferion had smiled hugely when they told him their news, picking up first Legolas and then Isilmei in his enthusiastic embrace. _'Good,'_ his brother crowed with a happy smile, _'now Adar will look to _you_ to produce the next generation of our family instead of me!'_ Ferion burst into laughter at his own joke before he finished delivering it, which made Isilmei laugh even as she blushed at his implication. Legolas pulled her back into his arms to shield her from Ferion's overly-energetic attention, loving his brother intensely in that moment for the eager, happy way he welcomed Isilmei to their family. She blushed again the night they returned to Minas Tirith, for Aragorn and Faramir arranged a lovely toast before the entire court that they delivered at the conclusion of dinner.

He remembered the thoughtful way she examined his plans for the colony, and the way his heart swelled with happy pride at the sincerity of her praise. The endearing way she responded the first time he kissed her. Her joyful smile when she agreed to join him on the road. His thoughts shifted yet again as he thought back to a time shortly before she left Minas Tirith with him. Early afternoon had found them in the nursery as she put the princesses down for their nap. He sat quietly on the window ledge and listened as she sang the children to sleep and – even though he had not yet told her of his feelings for her – he entertained a fantasy of what it would be like to watch her grow round with his elfling. In his mind's eye he pictured a young one whose features were half his and half Isilmei's, and he wanted to see her hold that elfling in her arms. He still wanted that very badly.

He wanted them to have more time together like the morning before their terrible argument. After she had come to him in tears late at night, he carried her to his bed and held her while she slept. She told him she loved him just before she drifted off, and for a long while, he held her close and savored the quiet intimacy of having her within his arms. His dreams had been vivid and joyous that night, full of his plans and hopes for their union. She was still fast asleep when he woke as the first pinks and peaches of dawn spilled through his window, and he was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to study her. The steady rise and fall of her chest as she lay dreaming in his bed, the peaceful feeling of having her body next to his. Her skin was smooth and soft under his hands, her lips warm and inviting when she woke and demanded to be kissed.

Recalling the sight of her long shapely legs, bare white shoulders, the perfect column of her neck, still brought a jolt of sensation to his body. When he returned to his chamber later that night with their heated, hurtful words ringing in his ears, the scent of midnight jasmine he had come to associate exclusively with her still clung to his bedding. It had been torturous for him to lie in that bed amid memories of time they spent together. Her scent surrounded him and made him uncomfortably hard, even with the pain of their angry exchange so fresh in his mind.

Early the next morning he knew she felt as repentant as he did about their quarrel. Aragorn and his commanders assembled on the Sixth Level to mount their destriers and ride down to the main force amassed outside the Great Gate. Arwen's court gathered to farewell the king and his company. Those remaining behind held flowers which they tossed in front of the horses' hooves as they passed by.

It was as he neared the entrance to the tunnel leading up to the Citadel that Legolas saw Isilmei. She stood next to Arwen and held tightly to Gilrael's hand. When he met her gaze he could see the abject sorrow on her face as he tried to put his own apology in his eyes. No words were needed between them, he felt, for her emotions were so clear in her expression that he could feel her love for him across the distance. Tears streamed down her alabaster cheeks as Arod slowly picked his way toward her through the flowers. With her eyes locked on his, she leaned forward and tossed a stem of white blossoms into Arod's path. Gilrael did the same, grinning hugely as she waved at her father, and Legolas gave them both a fond smile. As he passed Isilmei, he felt the unfamiliar prick of tears behind his lashes. He held her gaze as long as he could, nodding once to her as he rode by. She returned the gesture, her eyes never leaving his face until Arod carried him around the next bend and he finally lost sight of her.

And now here she was once more in front of him, but instead of the joyous reunion Legolas had planned, he held her frigid, unresponsive hand and prayed that she recovered. During the campaign he often lay awake at night and pictured a bright smile lighting her face as she watched him ride into the Citadel. He imagined leaping from his horse, casting decorum aside, and picking her up off the ground to swing her around in a giddy embrace as he kissed her face and they exchanged words of apology and love. Such was his devastation that he could scarcely comprehend that she may never again look at him and speak his name. He could not bear the possibility.

Legolas's memories, much like his dreams, were so clear to him as to take on a reality of their own. As he continued to listen to Isilmei's labored, shallow breathing, he summoned forth other cherished memories, praying with all his heart that recollections would not soon be all he had left of her. One moment in particular rose in his mind over and over as he tried to make sense of what was happening around him.

~.~.~.~

_He strode through Mithlond's guest quarters looking for Isilmei, but did not find her with any of the other Ithilien Elves. Turning toward the corridor off of which their sleeping chambers branched, he passed several closed doors until he saw light pouring into the hallway from Isilmei's room. She stood at the open window, the sea breeze gently dancing through the curved arch to tangle among the curtains and her trailing skirts. Strands of silver-gold hair lifted on the breeze and glinted in the afternoon light._

_He paused to watch her for a moment, his breath catching in his throat at her beauty, the way her slender body was silhouetted by the sun. There were days when he felt the need to pinch himself, for she was finally, truly his. His patience had been rewarded and before the next year was out, she would be his bondmate. They had been inseparable since their betrothal ceremony, which was just exactly as he intended._

_Outside the window the view stretched away toward the bay, the narrow passageway to the open sea bright before them like a beacon. The sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon, its light throwing cliffs and buildings alike into sharp relief. Gulls swooped and soared on the tidal breeze._

_He realized she was aware of his presence only when she looked back over her shoulder. "See anything you like?" She asked as her lips curved into an inviting smile._

"_I see something I adore," he replied as he grinned at her. Crossing the room, he slid both arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. He bent his head to rest his chin on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "What does my lady see?"_

"_The ocean. I love everything about it. The play of sunlight on the water that changes each hour, the cries of the gulls, the salt breeze, the sound of the waves lapping against the quay. I understand now why our people are so easily plagued by Sea Longing." She shifted to fold her arms on top of his. "I should very much like to live by the sea some day."_

_He nuzzled his face into her fragrant hair and breathed in its jasmine scent as a wave of Longing hit him. He squeezed her tighter, holding on to her and consumed with gratitude that she was here with him to help him fight the urge to take ship and sail. "Would you like to know a secret?"_

"_Certainly." Her tone was soft as she leaned her head against his shoulder. _

"_Do you remember when you asked me if I minded if you stayed in Imladris with your grandfather?" At her nod, he continued. "Do you remember what I said in reply?"_

"_You said you needed me to be with you." She turned her head to press a kiss to his cheek._

_He lifted his head to kiss her shining hair. "Especially when I came to Mithlond."_

"_I remember." Her gaze, like his, strayed back toward the water._

"_And when you asked me why, I would not answer you."_

_Her laughter was soft and warm as she ran her fingertips along his forearm; raising gooseflesh everywhere she touched him. "Yes, I remember that too. I assumed you had your reasons."_

"_Your grandmother once warned me to be wary of Sea Longing," he confessed. "It afflicted me before war's end, and I have struggled with it ever since." He kissed the top of her head when he heard her distressed gasp and gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. "I want so much to sail, but just as much I realize that my time in the bent world is not yet through. I must stay, no matter how difficult it is to do so each time I hear the cries of the gulls."_

_She turned in his arms as he spoke, her eyes warm with gentle sympathy as she listened to his words. One hand slid around his waist as the other came to rest over his heart. "Ai, Legolas, I had no idea. I am so sorry."_

_He smiled tenderly as he placed one hand on top of hers to caress her fingers. "I tell you this so that you will know how very grateful I am that you consented to putting my wishes above your own. I knew that what I asked was a high price for you to pay. And I also knew that you were unaware then just how much I had already come to love you." His lips brushed her forehead before pulling back to look deeply into her eyes. "Sweet Isil, I wanted you with me here so that when the Longing struck, I would be reminded of all that is still beautiful and good about the bent world. I needed you to give me a reason to stay."_

_She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him tenderly. "I am glad I came with you," she whispered. "And I am glad you stayed; for when you sail, I want to accompany you."_

_The depth of her feelings for him, the unquestioning acceptance he felt as he confessed his darkest secrets, increased the tender ache in his heart for her. "Thank you, love, for being here with me."_

_Her smile was bittersweet as she traced his jawline with slim fingers. "I would have had a tremendously difficult time of it in Lorien without you beside me. You gave me the courage to face my fears, Legolas. So thank _you_."_

"_It seems we have much to be thankful for, as we have been blessed with much love and good fortune," he said as he bent forward to claim her lips._

"_Yes we have," she smiled. "Let us remember that. Always."_

~.~.~.~

'_How could we have forgotten our gratitude so easily?'_ Pulling himself away from his reminiscences, Legolas sighed as he rubbed one hand heavily across his eyes. He watched Isilmei for long hours, watched as his breath stirred the fine hair at her temples while he hovered near. Her breathing was so faint that his sharp eyes had trouble discerning the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets. Several times, he stared even harder as he clutched her hand, convinced that she had stopped breathing all together. He tried to rub warmth and life back into her fingers, begging her to open her eyes and tell him she loved him, quarrel with him, anything. Anything at all.

Time slowed to a crawl as Legolas maintained his vigil. Arwen came in frequently, offering to stay so he could rest, but he denied himself all aid and comfort, staunchly refusing to leave the room. Orophin and Míril were frequent visitors, as was Turwaithion.

It was from Orophin that Legolas learned she had collapsed once before. His guilt increased exponentially when he learned how her grief over Haldir's death struck her so low. Her stubborn insistence that he not ride to war suddenly made perfect sense. The reason for her initial reaction to Rúmil in the Imladris garden also became clear to Legolas as Orophin told him of Rúmil's response to their brother's death and his harsh accusations toward Isilmei. Legolas marveled that Isilmei and Rúmil had since been able to forge the bonds of friendship between them, but was more despondent than ever when he learned that her previous collapse lasted no longer than three days. She had now been unconscious for more than two weeks.

When it became apparent that there would be no quick cure for Isilmei's condition, Legolas devised a change in plans for the Ithilien party. Turwaithion conveniently dropped by for a visit as Legolas made his decision.

"I want you to take over affairs in Ithilien in my stead," Legolas told his dark-haired friend. "Keep Orophin close – he is wise, and a good advisor."

"No, Legolas." Turwaithion's voice was kind as he spoke the words, but determined.

"Tur…"

"No," he repeated. A hint of a grin lifted one corner of his mouth as he said, "You forget that some in our party have known you an age or more. Some of us even grew up with you. I knew you would eventually tell us to leave without you, so I called everyone together and put it to a vote."

Legolas's brows lifted in surprise. "You did what?"

"We voted," his old friend replied nonchalantly with a shrug of one shoulder. "And the outcome was unanimous. You are our leader, and you we shall follow. If you are staying here, then so are we. Ithilien can wait."

"There is work to be done," Legolas insisted with a shake of his head. "I cannot leave here without Isilmei, but you can go and…"

"No. Lady Isilmei is part of our company, and she is dear to you." Turwaithion closed the small distance between them to place a reassuring hand upon Legolas's shoulder. "We understand that you will not leave her side. None of us would ever dream of asking you to do so. But you need friends about you right now, Legolas. Let us be here for you."

A combination of exhaustion and distress had Legolas's emotions running high. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he glanced once more at Isilmei's still face before returning his gaze to his oldest friend. "Some leader I shall be if my followers so blithely ignore my orders."

Turwaithion's sly grin spread across his mouth. "Only the silly ones." To soften the blow of his jest, he lowered his dark head and placed one hand over his heart with a flourish. "My Lord."

Legolas almost laughed in spite of his melancholy.

Turwaithion's grip on Legolas's shoulder tightened. "You are the kind of leader who inspires fidelity in your followers. That is not a skill to take lightly. The vision for Ithilien is yours and we will help you see it to fruition. Just as soon as you and your lady are ready to make the trip."

Legolas felt his throat constrict with unexpressed emotion. "Thank you, my friend." He was too close to tears to make his voice rise above a whisper.

Aragorn was next to step into the room. He had already brought in his healing herbs and used all his skills, but got no response from the inert form on the bed. The athelas he simmered in warm water permeated the room with its refreshing scent yet did little to lift Legolas's spirits. Aragorn replenished the herbs twice per day, and Legolas had been relieved to see that while they did not cause the miraculous recovery he hoped for, they at least seemed to slow Isilmei's decay. She was not getting better, but neither did she seem to get worse.

The healers insisted on trickling a few spoonfuls of broth down Isilmei's throat several times per day, along with a little water, but Legolas failed to see how she consumed enough to keep her alive. Then again, he had precious little appetite himself, eating only when Aragorn or Arwen handed him a bit of bread or a piece of fruit and threatened to banish him from the room unless he ate.

Aragorn kept vigil with Legolas for a few hours each day, but a kingdom waits for no one, not even for its king. Finally he departed so the frequent interruptions would not disturb Legolas or his intended. Aragorn gripped Legolas's shoulder before he left, whispering words of reassurance and encouragement. With one last look behind him, Aragorn was gone, and the room was filled again with only the quiet sounds of labored breathing and Legolas's grieving, whispered pleas.

TBC…


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34: An Unscheduled Family Reunion and a Hurried Departure**

(_Language Note_: fëa/fëar = soul/souls, hröa = body)

When the dove arrived bearing Arwen's urgent message, Elrohir quickly volunteered to accompany Celeborn to Minas Tirith. It was agreed among the three of them that Elladan would remain behind to see to the needs of Imladris. Celeborn and his grandson traveled tirelessly, pushing their mounts to the very limit of their endurance to reach the city of men.

The hurried journey was a quiet one, for Celeborn spent most of his time brooding and wishing his horse could travel faster. Elrohir was a deeply empathetic ellon and could easily pick up on his grandfather's anxiety. Without his brother beside him to return his banter, Elrohir soon gave up his well-intentioned if unwelcome attempts to lighten his grandfather's mood. Afterward, much to the elder's relief, they rode in silence.

A most troubling sight greeted Celeborn's tired eyes when he and Elrohir climbed the stairs of the King's House. Arwen and Legolas had toiled ceaselessly to revive the ailing Isilmei, but the only result was a noticeable strain on their own stamina. As his grandson embraced his sister and gently coaxed out the sad tale, Celeborn found himself staring, trying to find in the frail creature on the bed some trace of the bright spirit he and Galadriel raised. Legolas spoke not a word but kept his eyes riveted to Celeborn's face as though attempting to read his every thought.

Deep sadness shadowed Celeborn's heart as he remembered happier days, the great joy their little pearl brought to their lives during her youth. It had been Celeborn himself who asked to raise the orphan after her parents were slain during Celebrian's capture. When the elfling looked up and smiled shyly at him, an answering smile spread across his own face, and he had considered her _his_ elfling from that moment forward. Celeborn felt a sense of duty as he held the youngling in his arms and had sworn to raise her in remembrance of his brother Galathil's fractured family. Galadriel's surprise echoed through their bond when he told Elrond that they would take the elfling to Lorien to rear as their own. Yet she could feel how important the task was to her husband, how much he wanted the little girl, so she silently agreed to the emotional plea of his heart.

Celeborn had seen Elves die of sorrow before, of course. All the signs of such a fate were present in the still form lying before him. Though Legolas and Isilmei had not yet been officially bound to one another, Celeborn need look no further than his granddaughter and the haggard lordling sitting helplessly beside her to see that the joining of their hearts had already begun. Silently he cursed the tragic trick of fate that brought these unhappy times, for in Celeborn's opinion Isilmei had already suffered enough for love. Losing Haldir exacted a terrible toll upon her and Celeborn knew it had taken her years to heal her heart and move forward with her life. His own heart had lifted to see love blossoming between his granddaughter and the worthy young prince during their visit to Imladris, and the relationship provided a bridge over which he and Thranduil had begun to repair their own troubled association. And now, she faded before she had the chance to live out the love the Valar had seen fit to bestow upon her. _'Galadriel said Pearl's path would be complicated, but not that we would lose her…Why is this happening?'_

He fought the urge to withdraw his hand when he touched her forehead and felt the unnatural chill of her skin. A healthy fire blazed in the hearth and the room felt uncomfortably stuffy with the curtains drawn. Layers of blankets were piled on top of Isilmei, so it should not have been possible for her to be so very, very cold, and yet she was. He pushed through his aversion and lifted one of her eyelids to see if there was any expression in her eyes. With a sharply indrawn breath he pulled his hand back and stood tall as horror and dread slithered up his spine and deep into the pit of his stomach. He had seen eyes like that before.

"Grandfather?" Two voices spoke in unison behind him.

He drew in a deep composing breath before he could bear to turn and face them. "She is passing into the shadow world." His voice was grim. "Her fëa has gone to that place where phantoms, wraiths, and lost spirits roam."1

Aragorn spoke quietly from the doorway. "I feared that might be the case. It explains why her body lingers in this condition."

"What do you mean?" Legolas's voice revealed the strain upon his heart.

"Frodo was close to the shadows after he was stabbed with a Morgul blade on Amon Sûl." Arwen said as she glanced toward her brother. "Our adar saved him, so there is still hope for Isil, is there not?"

Celeborn's expression tightened as he studied the anxious faces regarding him, for he truly did not know the answer to Arwen's question. He knew what he _hoped_ would be the answer, but could not say that he was certain of it. "What do you know of the Shadowlands?"

Legolas shook his head. "Only what is told in stories meant to frighten young elflings into obedience."

"We all know that ordinarily the fëar of fallen Eldar go to the Halls of Mandos, but it is said that sometimes the fallen refuse the summons of the Valar.2 Or, they may lose their way and reach the Shadowlands first," Celeborn explained as he looked to each of the young ones in turn. "Fëar who have given their allegiance to the dark powers are banned from Mandos and must linger in the Shadowlands. The Nazgul, for example, are said to have resided in the shadow world when not called upon by their master. I assume they have been permanently trapped within the shadows now that he has been destroyed."

"But Isilmei has not earned that fate," Arwen argued, "and she is no Ringwraith. How then could she have found her way to the Shadowlands?"

"It is easier to stumble into the shadow realm than it is to find the way out," Celeborn said sadly. "I have seen Elves wounded in battle lose their fëar to the shadows for a time. If the hröa survives until the fëa finds its way back, the individual can survive." His eyes fell on Legolas as he finished his explanation. "Isilmei likely lost her way while searching for your fëa, Legolas. She was not summoned to Mandos, but rather has undertaken her own search for her beloved. Since she found the shadows instead of the Halls of Waiting, her fëa's tie to her hröa has not yet been fully severed. It is the only reason the form before us still lives." His lungs pulled in a deep breath of air as the pain of his next thought wracked his chest. "If her hröa dies while her fëa is trapped in the shadow realm, she may never be able to reach Mandos even if summoned."

Aragorn stepped further into the circle of conversation. "If her fëa has become lost in the shadows, can she be guided back to our world? Or must she find her way back on her own?"

Celeborn cast his gaze to his younger granddaughter's slack face. "In theory, it is possible to guide her, though I have never seen it done. There are some very old incantations designed for the purpose."

"Then our choices are thus: wait for her to find her way back to us," Elrohir said in a thoughtful voice, "or find a way to help her home."

He hated to dash the quiet hope he saw burning in his grandson's silver eyes, but knew that the matter was not quite that simple. "There is danger there beyond finding one's way home. The fëar that are permanently banned to the Shadowlands desire escape, for they find no rest in that place. If one of the banished can coax a lost soul into accepting it, the intruder often takes over the hröa."3

"So you are saying that she could wake up, but the fëa staring at us out of Isilmei's eyes might not be Isilmei herself," Elrohir concluded as a frown pulled down the corners of his generous mouth.

"I have seen it before," Celeborn confirmed with a nod. "The ellon of which I speak was a noble warrior. When he recovered from his injuries we rejoiced, not realizing at first that he was not who we believed him to be. The battle waged by the two fëar for control of his hröa eventually killed him."4

"If she found her way into the Shadowlands, then there _must_ be a way to follow her," Legolas insisted, "and help her retrace her steps back to us."

Celeborn cast wary eyes at Isilmei's betrothed. "_In_ _theory_, Legolas, but…"

"I will go after her and bring her back," the young lord interrupted. "Tell me how to get there." His eyes were fixed with determination, with the hope of one who has a plan and believes that there is light at the end of all the darkness surrounding him.

Celeborn gazed at Legolas's unwavering countenance, judging the younger ellon's strength. The task he was about to set for him would not be an easy one. The young Lord of Ithilien was famous for his bravery and valor. He had lived upon Middle-earth for more than two ages, and fought courageously in numerous battles, but Celeborn knew that Legolas had yet to face anything like the task he was about to undertake. Celeborn also knew that the battles of the field were sometimes easier to fight than the battles of the soul. "Would that I could assure you of success, Legolas," he said sorrowfully. "But there is a very real possibility that if you do this, we will lose you too."

Legolas's brow wrinkled in frustration and grief. "Please, my Lord," he said as he reached out and gripped Celeborn's forearm. "There must be some hope left. There must be something – anything – we can do. I cannot abandon her. I swore to her that I would not. I…we…" he looked down at his intended as his eyes misted over. "We have plans, and dreams. We have so much to do. Our time has not yet begun."

"Look deep into your heart, Legolas," Celeborn said, his voice full of gravity as he struggled with his own emotions. "You promised me once that you would always give her your love, but would you give her your life? She fades because she cannot bear to face losing you, and would rather find some part of you in the shadows than spend another day here without you. Would you make a similar sacrifice for her?"

Legolas's face was set with grim fortitude. "Yes," he answered without pause. "Tell me what I must do, and it will be done."

Celeborn sent up a silent prayer that the faith he and his youngest put in the lean warrior in front of him was correctly placed, and that Legolas would be able to restore Isilmei to them. "I will tell you all that I know, but I cannot answer all of your questions, for there is much about the Shadowlands that none living can see. Few who have survived the place have been able to add to our knowledge of that world."

Legolas's eyes were dark and intense as he stood before Celeborn. The other younglings in the room listened with rapt attention, having but little knowledge of the shadowy realm of lost and doomed souls.

"Listen well, Legolas, for you will need the knowledge I impart if you are to survive there and bring her back with you."

Legolas nodded his understanding.

"The shadow realm is a place where nothing is as it seems. What appears to be real is not, and what appears to be no more than shadow can kill. The souls of the living do not belong there, and the dark forces that inhabit that place seek to consume or destroy any life that tarries there. A spirit that stays too long will lose all perspective on reality and eventually spiral into madness. When you find Isilmei, she may not recognize you even though yours is the spirit she seeks, and the heart for which she yearns. If that is the case, you will have to find a way to touch her heart, her mind, and convince her to come back with you."

Legolas's throat constricted involuntarily, but he met Celeborn's eyes fully with raised chin and squared shoulders. "When do I commence the journey?"

"You mean _we_, brother. When do we commence our journey?" A rough voice moved four pairs of Elven eyes toward Gondor's king.

Worry darkened Arwen's expression, but before she could utter a sound, Celeborn answered. "Nay, Estel. For all that you are, not even you can travel with Legolas into the world of shadows and wraiths."

"He journeyed with me once before into a realm of the dead," Aragorn argued. "I would not have him face this test alone."

Celeborn turned grave eyes back to the lean, blond ellon before him. "She might be distracted by another presence, making your task all the more difficult."

Aragorn would not be so easily deterred. "My Lord, bearing Isilmei's condition in mind, what of Legolas? Who will be there to guide him in time of need? Long have we fought together, he and I. It is in part his effort to aid me that has brought us to this sad day. I can help him now. It is my duty."

Lord Celeborn's expression grew graver still as he looked from his granddaughters, to Aragorn, to Legolas. "If you go, you could prevent him from finding her," he advised heavily, "yet there is a chance that you could aid him. The choice must be made with haste."

Celeborn watched as Aragorn and Legolas regarded each other while Elrohir wrapped an arm around his sister in wordless support. Aragorn stepped forward to grasp Legolas's forearm, which the ellon returned in a gesture of soldierly solidarity. "I am here if you need me," he promised his friend.

Legolas regarded them all for a moment before fixing his gaze upon the king. "Thank you, brother. But this I must do by myself. Ask not how I know, yet I am _certain_ that my greatest chance for success lies in facing this test alone."

With a heavy sigh, Aragorn withdrew his hand and stepped back. His hesitation was evident in the extra weight his limbs seemed to carry all of a sudden.

The room was silent until Celeborn placed a hand on Legolas's sturdy shoulder. "The journey must begin immediately."

The younger ellon nodded grimly, his eyes pain-filled as he looked once more toward his intended.

Celeborn held out his hand to indicate the chair beside the bed – the same one Legolas had been sitting in when Celeborn stepped into the room. Legolas sat down and placed his hands upon his knees, his eyes never once leaving Isilmei's face.

"Focus upon my voice," Celeborn instructed. Closing his eyes, he placed his hand on Legolas's shoulder and began reciting an ancient incantation he had learned at his father's request – one which he thought silly at the time, never knowing how much he would one day need it to work.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

Legolas allowed his eyelids to drift shut as he concentrated on Lord Celeborn's words. He recognized some of the words spoken, but the dialect was one with which he was unfamiliar. As he embraced the mysterious words and melodious tone with his very soul, he felt the language like a living thing spiraling around the room, buffeting his body and his mind until he felt himself begin to sway both into and away from its touch.

He found that his consciousness started to spin as well, and soon he lost track of which direction was up and which was down. He fought to remain upright, jerking up his chin as his eyes flew open in effort to regain his balance.

The sight awaiting Legolas was not what he expected. Instead of sitting in Isilmei's room, he now stood within a ring of crumbling trees. Instead of darkened stone walls, he found himself looking into a penetrating, ground-hugging gray mist.

The landscape was strange, more like a petrified forest than anything else he had ever witnessed. As one who loved the woodlands and spent long years as guardian of a forest realm, the death and decay he saw around him was deeply troubling. Legolas found that the pervasive, dank grayness of the place skewed his perception and left him with the feeling that he was in the burial ground of a once-great wood. All that remained were the broken skeletons of long-dead trees, abandoned stream beds, and an ever present, cloying fog. Thick gray vapor shrouded the landscape, stalking it as if to prevent the eyes from accurately ascertaining the lay of the land.

"My Lord? Arwen?" Legolas whispered. No answering voice rose to meet his ears. In fact, the mist seemed to swallow his words as they left his lips.

In the back of his mind he felt the faintest brush of a familiar presence, as if Arwen were giving him an encouraging embrace from across the distance. As quickly as it came to him, it faded away again, leaving him feeling adrift and very much alone.

Legolas looked down the length of his body, taking inventory. With some dismay he noticed that he was weaponless, and wondered if he would have his bow and quiver now if he had donned them again before Lord Celeborn began his recitation. He supposed being weaponless did not make a great deal of difference in a place inhabited by the dead, but he certainly would have _felt_ better if his fingers clutched his bow.

"Not all here are dead," he reminded himself sternly as a fresh surge of purpose coursed through his veins. Speaking the words out loud brought a small measure of reassurance.

Taking a few hesitant steps, Legolas ventured into the mist. The fog and shadows were so thick that he could not see the ground beneath his feet. As he moved, he discovered that the vapor parted easily enough as he stepped through it. It was as though the fog did not want to touch him directly, causing him to wonder if somehow the fëar of those trapped in this place composed the damp gray blanket obscuring everything from view. Still, if he watched carefully he could move about without too much risk of stumbling over unseen objects. Everywhere he looked the twisted, dead remains of trees and other plant life poked through the mists. He continued moving forward, navigating around rotted stumps.

As he traveled further, he began to discern individual presences concealed within the fog. They hovered just far enough away in the mist as to be hidden from sight. His senses told him that whatever manner of creatures he passed; they were not like any life he had ever known on Middle-earth, and that they were frightened of him. Yet there were some who seemed _bolder_. From some of the unseen he could feel a distinct hint of hatred and fury. It was an odd thought, he realized, but the fact that they did not wish to show themselves made him deeply glad. Perhaps they would be afraid of Isilmei as well. He prayed to the Valar that it would be so, that they would keep her safe until he found her.

He continued desperately on his way, unsure of the path or destination but following where his feet lead him through the forlorn landscape. Legolas paused as he passed a particularly large tree trunk. It was warped and broken as though it had been shattered by lightning. Cautiously, he reached out a long-fingered hand and placed it upon the bark.

The wood felt solid beneath his palm but was colder than the winter snows that clung to the mountain sheltering his father's halls. All warmth drained instantly from his skin. Even more disturbing than the cold was the utter void of life within the trunk. It was as if the blackness of this place was so complete that it drew a little of his own life through his skin and sucked it into the abyss. His shoulders sagged and his breath left his lungs as an overwhelming sense of exhaustion swept through his body. Jerking his hand away, and thinking of the elleth who had wandered this land for days, he moved on, terrified anew of what sight awaited him when he found her.

His hesitant stride became more determined, and then hurried. When he realized he had no knowledge of how long he had traveled, he began to run. The longer he ran, the more frustrated he became for he could not be sure whether he traveled in a straight line or round about in circles. He felt detached from his own senses, unable to interpret the signals his eyes and ears fed his mind. By degrees, he felt the strangeness of this land feed the overwhelming sadness in his heart. The place began to tear at his patience and his hope and nibble at the edges of his sanity.

Gradually it seemed that whatever presences he first detected moved with him; and as he continued on his way, he could sense that they were losing their fear of him. Though he could not count their number, he knew them to be many. His initial impression of the spirits was strengthened – from some he perceived curiosity, from some suspicion, from others ill intent. He looked furiously from side to side, but could make out none of them. The growing boldness of the hidden spirits worried him, as Isilmei had been in this world far longer than he, and if the strange creatures bore him ill will, surely they bore her the same. Legolas feared that Isilmei's life force may not be strong enough to keep them at bay much longer. He ran faster.

As he ran a repetitious thudding sound registered itself upon his consciousness. _'Hoofbeats. How could a horse be here?'_ He wondered. He turned to follow the sound but was unable to see the animal. He stopped when he reached a spot where he thought the horse might have passed and knelt to the ground to look for tracks.

TBC…

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Author's Note_: A few excerpts from _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and "Laws and Customs of the Eldar" within _Morgoth's Ring_ to explain the inspiration for the Shadowlands depicted in chapters 34 and 35. Please note that my copy of FOTR is electronic. I don't know exactly how the page numbers in the electronic version compare with those in the various hardcopy editions. The MR page numbers cited are from the Harper Collins edition.

1Gandalf to Frodo: "You were in gravest peril while you wore the Ring, for then you were half in the **wraith-world** yourself, and they might have seized you. You could see them, and they could see you." (FOTR, 261) Emphasis added.

2"The fëa is single, and in the last impregnable. It cannot be brought to Mandos. It is summoned; and the summons proceeds from just authority, and is imperative; yet it may be refused…[I]n the first years of the Elves, refusal of the summons to Mandos and the Halls of Waiting [was], the Eldar say, frequent. It was less frequent, however…while Morgoth was in Arda, or his servant Sauron after him; for then the fëa unbodied would flee in terror of the Shadow to **any** **refuge** – unless it was already committed to the Darkness and **passed then to its dominion**." (MR, 223) Emphasis added. Note that among the synonyms for _dominion_ is _territory._

Add to the two quotes above Aragorn's line from Jackson, et. al's FOTR movie ("He is passing into the shadow world.") and my conclusion is thus: If an unhoused fëa does not go to Mandos, and does not linger in the waking world, then it is possible that there is another place/realm/plain of existence where the unhoused dwell. I have chosen to call that place the Shadowlands. It seems logical that a spirit which has been separated from its body but has not received a summons to Mandos would be likely to find its way to the Shadowlands.

3"Some say that the Houseless desire bodies, though they are not willing to seek them lawfully by submission to the judgment of Mandos. The wicked among them will take bodies, if they can, unlawfully. The peril of communing with them is, therefore, not only the peril of being deluded by fantasies or lies; there is peril also of destruction." (MR, 224)

4"For one of the hungry Houseless, if it is admitted to the friendship of the living, may seek to eject the fëa from its body; and in the contest for mastery the body may be gravely injured, even if it be not wrested from its rightful inhabitant. Or the Houseless may plead for shelter, and if it is admitted, then it will seek to enslave its host and use both his will and his body for its own purposes. It is said Sauron did these things, and taught his followers how to achieve them." (MR, 224)


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35: A Battle Fought, an Enemy Opposed**

(_Author's Note_: Thank you, Certh, for supplying page numbers for last chapter's citations. I stand in your debt!)

'_Did he come this way?'_ He must have. Arod's head had pointed in this direction, Isilmei thought, though it was difficult to say which direction was which in this place. There was too much gray, too much mist. Everything seemed to blend in with everything else until one was never sure whether one moved forward or backward or about in circles.

But this _must_ be the way he was headed, so she increased her pace and floated forward. If only, when she had glimpsed Legolas riding through the mists, she had been close enough to him for her voice to reach his ears!

Shaking with excitement, or perhaps exhaustion, for she was so very, very tired, Isilmei rushed onward. She came to an abrupt halt when she passed by a large, hollowed out tree trunk that looked both familiar and unfamiliar. A figure knelt near the tree, studying the ground as though looking for footprints.

She smiled at the absurdity of the stranger, for nothing left tracks in this place. It was impossible to leave a trail when one's feet no longer touched the ground, after all! Still, the sight of this newcomer almost made her happy, for he was the only other solid form she had seen here. Except, of course, for the brief glimpse of Legolas and Arod which set her into frantic motion. Perhaps the stranger had seen him too. "Did he come this way?"

The newcomer shot to his feet, relief and joy painting his features. "Isilmei! Ai, thank the Valar!"

His long legs quickly closed the distance between them as he reached out his arms toward her, but she drifted out of his reach. She had learned too well the lessons about touching anything in this place. She put a large boulder between herself and the stranger, tipping her head to the side as she studied him. He did not float along the ground as she did, rather his feet carried him. It was though he was anchored to the ground in a way that she remembered experiencing…when? In some other world? Here? She could not say for certain, but she felt less and less solid the more time she spent here.

There was something oddly reassuring about the sturdiness of the stranger before her. He reminded her of Legolas. Just moments before, her beloved seemed unaware of her even as she flew toward him, but this newcomer somehow not only saw her, but also knew her name? It was a confusing set of facts to ponder. "Can you see me?" She asked.

"Of course I can, love." His voice grew wary as his lips pulled downward in a frown.

It was only then that she noticed the confusion on the stranger's face as he stood before her. She felt sad for the stranger, for she understood what a perplexing place this was. _'Why does he call me _love_? It sounds familiar…'_

"I have looked everywhere for you." The stranger's voice was grave and careful as he reached out a hand toward her and circled round her boulder. "Quickly, let us…"

She moved again to keep the stone between them, deciding it did not matter why this newcomer had a pet name for her. She did not have time to waste unraveling the mystery he presented. Thoughts of the one she chased brought a happy smile to her face, for her long journey was almost over – she could feel it. Perhaps the stranger could help, for it was possible he came here around the same time she arrived. "I am following an ellon named Legolas. I just saw him. Do you know him? Did he come this way?"

The stranger's expression grew horrified. "Isil…" Slowly the hand he held toward her lowered to his side and curled into a fist. "Do you not know me? I am Legolas."

She wrinkled up her nose and laughed, finding him silly. "No you are not." She shook her head at him, for though she was glad to have another to talk to; she had no time for his games. "I must find him. We are to be wed."

The stranger's face crumpled, as though he were in pain. Isilmei felt a surge of pity for him, but had no time to indulge it so she pushed the feeling away.

"I came here for you," he said urgently. "I followed you all the way from Minas Tirith. Your grandfather is there with me. We are waiting for you to wake up."

In the back of her mind a dim memory was stirred by his words. "Grandfather?" A hazy image _almost_ formed in her mind of a tall ellon with broad shoulders, long silver hair, and very strong arms. Large hands that were gentle when they lifted her to his shoulder so that she could see all of the golden forest around them. Surely his face would be noble if only she could recall it clearly. Another wisp of memory stirred, and she could almost remember a deep voice rumbling in his chest when he held her close and read bedtime stories. The ellon in the almost-image represented safety, security, love.

"Yes, Isil." A look of desperate hope flared in the stranger's eyes as he watched her struggle with her recollections. "Do you remember him? Arwen is there as well, along with Aragorn and Elrohir and the children. Míril and Orophin are there waiting for you too. We are all waiting. Do you remember us?"

Isilmei experienced the oddest feeling. As he said each of the names, her mind's eye could nearly picture brief flashes of faces as she felt an impression about what sort of a person each name represented. It was as though they danced at the very back of her mind, in a corner so dark and remote that she was unable to see into it clearly. She felt an emotional connection to each of the names he mentioned, but the names came too fast for her to grasp onto them. They seemed so far away.

She grew confused and wanted to flee, but paused long enough to take another look at the mysterious ellon whose presence made her both happy and sad at the same time. "You do _look_ like Legolas, a little, I suppose." There was something about his eyes, the angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his lips that resonated within her.

With a frustrated groan, it was then that she realized he was playing a joke on her and she shook her head disapprovingly at his folly. "But you cannot be Legolas. I just saw him. It is unkind of you to jest with me. You are disheveled, and you look tired. That is not how Legolas looked when I saw him through the mist." She smiled as she recalled the memory with vivid detail, for it was the clearest sight she had seen since her arrival. "Legolas sits so tall and proud upon his gray stallion. He is perfect, and he is everything to me." The memory faded, and along with it her patience. She was done with this stranger and had already indulged him far longer than was wise. "I have to find him," she said firmly. "I thought he might have passed this way. I have to go now."

The stranger reached out as though to touch her, stopping when she flinched away. "Isil, love. Look at me, really _look_," he begged. "_Listen_ to my voice. I came here for you. Let me prove it to you. Here, take my hand…"

"No!" She jumped backward. Suddenly she understood that he had not been here as long as she had, and she could see that he looked thoroughly lost. Her heart fell as she realized that he could not help her find Legolas as she had hoped. "Do not touch me. I bear you no ill will, but you are _not_ Legolas." In spite of her frustration and impatience, something about him tugged at her heartstrings, causing her to want to spare him some of the pain she had experienced during her time in the shadows. Perhaps he could learn from her lessons. "And you must not touch me," she told him. "This place kills what it touches. If you touch something, you will feel a little of your life leach out of you. You must be very careful here. Touch enough things and lose enough of your life and you will never be able to leave. You should not stay here any longer than necessary."

"Isil…" His voice broke as he spoke.

"I have to go now," she reiterated gently. "I do not have much time left. I must find my betrothed. Good luck to you."

As she turned to leave, she could not remember which way she was headed before the stranger interrupted her. With a frustrated sigh she made her best guess and moved away – she had to get away from him and find her love. As she drifted further into the mists she could hear him follow after her.

"Wait! Isil! _I_ am your betrothed." The stranger's expression was frantic when she whirled about to face him once more, his body strung tight as a bow string. "I am Legolas! I came here for you."

"You lie!" She was angry enough to give him a good scolding and drew in a deep breath to vent her frustration. And then a sudden realization hit her and a deep sigh deflated her lungs and stooped her shoulders. What he was doing made sense of course – he was alone and scared in this place, just as she was. He had not been playing a joke on her earlier after all; he was simply telling her what he thought she wanted to hear in order to keep her with him. It was a clever trick, but she had no time for more of his games. "Legolas would not have come here for me because he does not know I am here," she said tiredly. "_I_ came here for _him_. You cannot be my intended. Stop lying to me!"

The stranger sank to his knees in supplication. "Isilmei, how can I prove what I am saying to you?" He reached out to her with both hands. "Can you not feel my desperation?"

"This is a desperate place," she said as she floated backwards to increase the gap between them. "I am desperate to find the fëa of my love and go with him to the Halls of Mandos. Every spirit here is desperate to find something. Or someone. Please. Leave me alone."

She retreated a bit more toward the enveloping shadows as he rose to his feet, his face fixed with stubborn determination. He looked a little like he was preparing for a fight, she thought, and the idea made her nervous for reasons she could not name.

"I came here to find you and bring you back with me," he said, "and I am not leaving without you."

"You do not know what you say," she wailed, thoroughly exasperated and anxious to be away from his presence. He was confusing to her, and she was already so confused. And so tired. And so very cold. "You may think you are Legolas, but I know that you are not." She had to find a way to get him to leave her alone so that she could resume her search for Legolas. Perhaps if she told him how badly she had failed her intended, he would understand that she was not the sort of being one could rely upon and stop trying to follow her. She had to get this stranger to go away so that she could finish what she had come here to do. "You would not try so hard to follow me if you knew what I have done. It is my fault Legolas is here. I should have fought harder to keep him from riding to war. I knew he was going to be killed, because I had a vision that showed me his body lying broken on the battlefield. But I did not do enough to stop him from going away. And then he died." She dropped her eyes from his face as a wave of shame washed through her. "I am very bad. I have to find a way to make it up to him. I have to make sure he reaches Mandos. He will be at peace there."

"No! Listen to me, love, please!" His tone bordered on hysteria. She could feel waves of anxiety and frustration radiating from him, which mirrored her own feelings. If it were possible to weep in this place, she was sure they would both have tears on their faces. He lurched toward her as he continued to reach for her. "Everything will be well if you will just come back with me. I love you!"

Her own anguish reached its peak as she realized that each moment she spent listening to this stranger's lies meant that Legolas and Arod were moving farther and farther away from her. "Go away! And leave me alone," she shrieked. "I have to go now. I have to find Legolas. I do not have much time left. I have…I have to go now."

Pushing out with both arms as though to shove him away, she fled into the mists. She looked for the deepest shadows she could find in the hopes that he would lose sight of her and eventually give up pursuing her. Entering the thickest mists was dangerous, she knew, for it was in those areas that the cruelest spirits resided. She felt their spectral hands reach for her as she passed by and twisted herself to avoid their clutching claws. It was getting harder and harder to evade them, and she knew that eventually she would have no more strength left to fight them off. As she had told the stranger, she was almost out of time.

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

As one possessed by madness, Legolas dashed off in search of Isilmei after she disappeared into the gloomy haze. Her footsteps left no trace for him to follow, made no sound as she fled from him. He could only hope that his instincts would know where to lead him. Everywhere about him he felt the evil of this wretched place growing stronger, closer, as he scrambled after his intended.

His breath caught repeatedly in his throat as he followed Isilmei, for their encounter frightened him more deeply than he wanted to admit. Her expression was tinged with madness. Her voice had taken on a high, thin quality, unlike the loving, gentle tone with which she normally spoke. Her eyes were terrible, their beautiful blue streaked with jagged lines of gray and white. Traces of the Isil of his heart were still within her, but she was beginning to look more like a wraith than his beloved. Her body had taken on the peculiar mix of solidness and transparency, gone fuzzy about the edges, like she was no longer of the waking world. He prayed to the Valar that he was not too late, that she was not beyond his reach.

Without warning the mist lifted, or rather, seemed to withdraw from a small bubble of clarity in the creeping fog. On all sides and above him, the mist hovered, but it was the sight immediately before him that held his attention. He felt his heart fall toward his toes in shock.

Isilmei stood with her back to him, facing another figure. So transfixed on each other were the two that they did not notice Legolas stopping mere feet away. His relief at finding her turned quickly to horror as he studied what it was that held her attention.

To his utter amazement, Legolas stared at an image of himself sitting upon a tall gray stallion. It was as though he gazed upon an official painting, the kind that his father insisted he and his brother sit for periodically. Briefly Legolas wondered if whatever spirit created this image had the ability to peer inside Isilmei's mind and use her artist's eye, for every detail was perfect down to the last hair. He was too stunned to move or speak as an absurd thought flitted through his mind. _'Which of us is real? And which the fake?'_ The ability of this place to sap one's sanity, along with one's hope, could not be denied.

"Legolas," she breathed. "I finally found you."

As Legolas stood there gaping at Isilmei, whose attention was fixed upon the figure in front of them, the impostor stretched out an elegant hand. "My own," he said in Westron as an enchanting smile spread upon his face. "Come to me. All is well."

"Legolas," she repeated. His name left her lips like a caress, and Legolas's heart gave a painful thump within him as he heard the love and longing in her voice. She stood as if in a trance, drinking in the perfect poise of Elf and steed. "A soldier said you fell in battle. My heart died as I heard the tale. I knew as I listened to him that I could not endure the ages without you." She drew in a deep breath as Legolas continued to stare at her, too shocked by the scene before him to force his feet into motion. "I only wanted...I wish I could have told you before…I wanted to beg forgiveness for…"

"All will be well, dearest," the apparition interrupted, his voice warm and rich. "Come, let me hold you and take you far away from your troubles."

"Yes," she nodded. Legolas watched as she slowly closed the distance between her and the impostor. "I was weak," she pleaded. "It was foolish of me to treat you as I did, and all I have wanted since you left was to tell you how sorry I am for the way we parted."

Legolas watched in dismay as the creature bearing his face leaned toward the worried elleth. As if under some sort of spell, her body swayed toward the impostor. In his heart of hearts Legolas knew that if the creature touched her, her fëa would be stolen away. Isilmei would be lost to him forever, yet he did not know how to prevent his fears from becoming reality.

"I knew you were searching for me so I came to find you," the figure assured her, stretching out its hand a little further as if to help her onto Arod's back. "Come away with me now."

For the first time in Legolas's long life, he could not lay hands upon his enemy. Knowing not of the creature's origin, he dared not touch it for fear of his own life until he could be sure Isilmei was safe. He struggled to find the words that would be his arrows in this battle. It was a tricky task, for he had to find a way to get through to her while keeping her from running away again. And then there was the specter to consider. How would it react when challenged? Drawing a deep breath, he girded himself for a battle unlike any he had ever faced. "He did not come for you, Isil. He could not have."

She gasped, spinning around at the sound of his voice. Her strange blue-white eyes flew wide at the shock of seeing two figures of the same ellon. Legolas could only hope that it was a good sign that she finally seemed to connect the sight of him with his identity, and that the dueling images would stun her back to her senses.

She swiped out one arm as though trying to strike him. "Why do you insist on this madness? Begone!" Without waiting for his answer, she turned back toward the apparition sitting upon its pale horse and drifted closer.

The perfect vision of himself remained calm and faultless, wooing her with dulcet tones. "Just reach out to me. Let me comfort you. Take my hand and we will be far from this place of darkness and despair."

"No," Legolas declared, more certain with each passing moment that this creature would be her undoing if he did not find a way to stop it. "_Hear_ me," he begged in frantic Sindarin. He hoped she would realize that the other figure used the Common Tongue as it spoke to her and somehow remember that unless the children or other mortals were present, they spoke exclusively in their native language with one another. "I did not leave you. Not in my heart. I did my duty; but you spoke truly: My place is with you. My ire was too great that evening to hear you plainly. I should have listened."

He watched, heart in his throat, as she lowered the arm that had reached out for the impostor. Yet she continued to stare at the noble mirage instead of at Legolas himself. Her voice was small and plaintive when as she asked, "Legolas?"

"Heeeer…mean…me," the vision implored. Legolas was quick to catch the slight frown on the being's face as it attempted to copy some of the Sindarin words Legolas had just spoken. The perfect hand continued to reach for Isilmei with graceful ease, but the linguistic stumble was noticeable. In whatever form this unhoused fëa had passed its time on Middle-earth, it had not been as Elf-kind. He prayed that Isilmei would notice the fault as well.

Her head whipped back and forth between the two images, frantic. "It is my fault we are here. I had to find you. I thought you did not know…I had to make sure you knew how much…"

"I know," Legolas assured her gently. "No argument we could ever have could change how much we love each other."

The impostor's expression grew furious. "He is evil! Stay away from him." The creature dropped all pretense at speaking Sindarin as it demanded, "Quickly, you must come with me. I will protect you, but you must come to me. Just take my hand and this will all be over. We will both be safe."

Isilmei's figure began to sway back and forth between the specter and Legolas as though blown by an undetected wind. Her expression was pitiful in its confusion and sorrow. "Legolas, I can sense your fëa, warm and vibrant and so very alive; but I cannot tell from which of you it comes. Help me."

She spoke Sindarin as Legolas did, but when the impostor moved Legolas was unable to tell if the apparition actually understood some of her words or simply responded to the desperate plea in her voice. Legolas dashed forward and reached her first. His hands gripped her arms before she could flee from him, pulling in a deep breath and struggling mightily against the weight of exhaustion and sadness seeping from her icy skin into his fingers. The vigor of her spirit was nearly spent. He despaired that they would not survive this place, but was unwilling to give up without a fight.

"Do you remember our last night in the garden…before we quarreled? Do you remember this?" With that, he grabbed her face in both of his hands and kissed her as though he might lose her forever. Having less than perfect faith in his words, he strove to put all his heart, all his emotions, into one searing kiss.

No sooner had his lips touched hers than the dam seemed to break inside Isilmei's heart. He tasted the brine of her tears, realizing with happy surprise that the moisture on her cheeks was _warm_. As he held her face tightly within his grasp, he could almost feel the scattered fragments of her fëa begin to coalesce once more. It was as though she gathered strength from the embrace. She whimpered as she drew in a gulp of air and her hands rose to grip his forearms. Her fingers remained unnaturally cold, but he could feel the faintest thrum of her pulse against his skin, as though she returned to life in his arms.

Behind them, the vision of himself aboard Arod began to scream as the wraith revealed itself in all its grotesque decay and horror.

Legolas caught no more than a glimpse of the creature sweeping in their direction before he broke off the kiss, grabbed Isilmei's hand, and began to sprint. "Run, Isil," he begged. "And whatever you do, do not let go of me."

TBC…


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36: Love Regained**

Celeborn paced between the hearth and the bed, casting anxious glances between two inert figures. A cot had been prepared for Legolas, who was placed upon it after he collapsed as his spirit went into the shadow realm. It was the third day since he sent Legolas into the between-world; and while the younger ellon's body was resilient, Celeborn was worried. If Legolas lingered too long in the shadows, his body would start to fade as Isilmei's had. There was a very real possibility that Legolas could be lost to them too and they would never know whether the young ones made it safely to Mandos or were both claimed by wraiths.

It was an outcome too horrific to contemplate, and yet it was all Celeborn could think about as time stretched on around him. The brief cycle of day to night which, ordinarily, he barely noticed had become an agonizingly slow process of anxious waiting. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and slowly forced the air out through his nostrils in effort to dispel some of the tension pinching painful cramps into his shoulders.

Legolas's eyes suddenly flew wide, a frantic expression twisting his features. Celeborn crossed the room in two long strides as Legolas sat bolt upright and sucked in a deep breath as though emerging from underwater. Gasping, Legolas grabbed his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. Celeborn knelt beside the cot and put a steadying hand upon Legolas's shoulder as he attempted to assess his condition.

"Lord Celeborn! Is she all right?" His voice was filled with panic.

Celeborn glanced briefly toward Isilmei in hopes that if Legolas had awakened, she would soon follow. His flaring hopes were dashed when he saw that the figure on the bed did not stir. "Legolas, look at me," he instructed. When the young lord finally focused his wild gaze on Celeborn's face, Celeborn was able to study him for a long moment. It was imperative that he be certain it was actually Legolas who had returned to them and not another attempting to take his place. "Where have you been?"

"To the shadow world, where you sent me." Legolas's voice took on a note of impatient frustration as a frown creased his forehead. "Why do you ask me this question?"

"Why did you go there?" Celeborn persisted.

To Celeborn's relief, Legolas finally seemed to understand the purpose for the interrogation. His posture relaxed as he drew in a deep breath. "To find Isil," he sighed.

Celeborn nodded; satisfied by both Legolas's response and the obvious emotion in his eyes that it was Legolas himself and not another fëa speaking through the younger ellon's mouth. "I had to be sure that you had truly returned to us. Are you well?" As he spoke Celeborn summoned all his will to hold at bay a sinking feeling in his heart. If Legolas was awake but Isilmei was not, then Legolas must have been unable to find her. He would not allow himself to grieve until he was certain that Thranduil's son was alright.

Legolas glanced down as though deep in thought before raising clear eyes to meet Celeborn's gaze once more. "I feel fine. A little tired, perhaps." He stood without further preamble, but was weaker than he thought. He wobbled like a foal standing for the first time.

Celeborn reached out and easily supported Legolas about the waist. "Easy, young Thranduilion. You have been through an ordeal. Let me help you." He caught Legolas's grateful nod as he helped him cross the room and sit in the chair beside the bed. "Do you remember what happened?"

Legolas picked up Isilmei's hand and wrapped it in both of his own as his expression darkened into a frown. "Only some of it." His hands rubbed her fingers as though trying to force warmth into them. "Why is she still so cold? Why has she not awakened?"

An ember of hope flared in Celeborn's heart. "There has been no change in her. Does your question indicate that you found her?"

"Yes." Legolas's face tightened into a mask of frustration. "You were right in that she did not recognize me."

Celeborn's heart fell as he sank heavily onto the foot of the bed.

"_But she did_…eventually." Legolas met Celeborn's tense gaze. "She remembered me, and I thought she came back with me. I do not understand…" Tears welled in his eyes, a sight which caused Celeborn's throat to grow thick with unexpressed emotion.

Celeborn forced his feet into movement, clinging to the hope that Pearl would eventually return to them as he circled round the bed to touch her forehead, her cheek. When he pressed his fingers against the side of her neck, he thought her pulse felt a little stronger than it had been before. _'Could that mean…'_ Celeborn did not realize he had been holding his breath until he lifted her eyelids and saw the familiar sky blue. The color flooded his heart with joy because it was so _normal_ – so different from the oddly glowing, expanding streaks of white and gray he had seen when last he looked. He allowed her lids to settle into place as he leaned back. Was her breathing a bit deeper, a bit steadier, than the last time he checked?

"Did I fail her?" Legolas's voice was thick with unshed tears. "I…"

Celeborn looked at Legolas and smiled. "Her eyes are blue again," he said quietly, no longer trying to hide his own emotions from the younger lord.

Legolas's long fingers tightened around Isilmei's hand. "Then she has returned? Why does she not open her eyes? Why…"

"She was lost far longer than you were, Legolas. We must wait until she wakes to know for sure, but I now have hope that she _will_ wake." Optimism and happiness swelled in his heart for the first time since the dove bearing Arwen's terrible message arrived in Imladris.

Legolas's features settled once more as his eyes turned back toward his betrothed.

Celeborn moved to stand beside Legolas's chair and gripped the younger ellon's shoulder firmly. "Thank you." He placed his free hand on top of the hands which held his granddaughter's. "Thank you for bringing her back to me. It will be my honor to welcome you into our family at your marriage feast."

"We are blessed that you knew how to guide me to her," Legolas said almost bashfully. "I could not have found her without your wisdom and knowledge, my Lord."

Celeborn's chin quivered in a rare display of vulnerability. He patted Legolas's hand and stood tall as he reined in his emotions. "I will retrieve Elrohir and Aragorn. They should examine her to confirm my conclusions." As he pulled open the door, he looked back once more. "Talk to her, son. Let her hear your voice as she recovers. Hopefully she will wake soon."

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

As though trapped within a murky, cold sea, Isilmei felt herself rising and falling as she was buffeted by forces she could not glimpse. She tried to kick toward a shining light that seemed to be on the surface far above her, but struggled mightily to get her cold limbs to move. She felt so tired, and so, so very weak, as though she had been submerged for a long time. Yet she did not remember entering the water.

As she struggled toward the surface of the vast gray ocean, the urge to draw in air became overwhelming. Painful. She knew that she should not, but could not keep her body from drawing in a deep breath.

Her eyes opened as she gasped in air, and it was only then that she realized that she was not submerged in water, but was lying in a bed wrapped in thick warm blankets. Why then was she so cold?

Her eyes fell next on what she knew instinctively must have been the bright spot toward which she swam. She felt the room spin around her in a dizzying rush of confusion and shock as she recognized the figure. Legolas sat in a chair beside the bed; his golden head slumped forward onto the blanket next to her. He was sound asleep, yet he held tightly to her hand.

The dark blue and purple rings circling his eyes brought flickering images of their ordeal back to her in a rush. Her dream of his broken body lying abandoned upon the battlefield. Their argument in the garden. The news received from Caldor and the way she felt herself shatter in response. Searching for Legolas in the gray place, running and then floating through the mist in the hopes of finding him.

And yet as tears gathered in her eyes, she realized it was _he_ who had found her in that place. Somehow he _lived_ and had managed to follow her, find her, and lead her to safety. And now he sat beside her, sound asleep but very much alive and apparently whole. The images were fuzzy about the edges as though she could not quite picture them completely, but the clearest memory she carried from the shadows was the feeling of warmth and vitality she felt when he kissed her. The brightly burning vigor of his fëa had been enough to supplant the horror of her experience within the mists, and she had clung to that light with all her might as they fled from…_something_ that wished to harm them. But now, they appeared to be safely returned to the King's House.

Isilmei was overwhelmed with gratitude as she took in Legolas's tired, worried expression, understanding what a toll the journey took upon him. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the fierce way he held her hand even in slumber suggested he was well, if tired. She thought that she would be happy to have her fingers cocooned within his strong, warm grasp forever. As she studied their joined hands she noticed the soft glow of his silver betrothal ring. She raised her hand to inspect her own ring, but it was not there. As she glanced around the room and then back to Legolas's sleeping form, she noticed the slim band of silver hanging from a chain around his neck. Had she taken it off? She frowned, flexing stiff fingers to make them work, and it was only then that she realized how much thinner her hands and arms had become during her time in the shadows. She must have been there even longer than she thought. There was no sense of time in that place.

A stirring near the door drew her attention to the far side of the room just in time to see Lord Celeborn step through the doorway. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her.

"Grandfather," she whispered as much as her cracked voice would allow. Everything about her felt rusty with disuse.

Relief painted his features and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but what stood out to Isilmei was a lingering note of wariness in his eyes. He studied her closely as he moved round the bed and sat beside her to take up her free hand in his large, warm grasp. Peering intently into her face, he asked, "What is your name, little one?"

Isilmei was confused by the question, her attention focused on the touch of his hands. He was so warm that his skin felt like touching fire and she longed for him to wrap her up in his arms until she felt warm again. "Why do…"

"Tell me." His voice was gentle, but insistent.

"The name you gave me is Isilmei," she did not understand his question, but it was obviously important that she answer him, so she did. "Some simply call me Isil."

He gave her a small smile as he asked, "And where were you raised?"

"Lothlorien."

"What is your adar's name?"

Overwhelmed by exhaustion and her emotions, she felt tears begin to slip from her eyes as she regarded the one who had raised and sheltered her. Never mind what she called him; he was the only father figure she had ever known. "Elurín is the ellon who sired me;" she said quietly, "but in all the other ways that count, my ada's name is Celeborn."

A crooked smile quirked its way across his lips and he sniffled as though trying to contain the tears she saw gathering in the corners of his hazel eyes. "My little pearl," he answered as he cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her forehead. "I am so happy to see you."

After all the confusion of her ordeal she was almost afraid to believe that the time of uncertainty and sorrow was finished. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Isilmei," he said as his smile widened. "It is really me, the very same who raised you and has loved you since the first time I held you in my arms."

If she possessed the energy, she would have thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him with all her might. But since she did not she simply squeezed his hand as firmly as she was able. "I love you too, Grandfather."

As he brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Happy to see you." Her eyes widened as she spoke, for she very much wanted his answer to her questions. "We are in Minas Tirith, yes? This is not a dream?"

"It is real, my dear," he assured her. "We are all safe in the White City together. And we are thankful to have you back with us where you belong." With a nod toward the sleeping ellon on her other side, he smiled and said, "I know someone else who will be very happy to have you back when he wakes."

She worried as her eyes took in the signs of exhaustion on Legolas's face. "The journey must have been hard for him."

Her grandfather squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I knew that if anyone could bring you back to us, it would be your betrothed. He is devoted to you, as much as your grandmother and I hoped your mate would be."

"Will he be well with rest?" Feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm her as she thought about what Legolas must have gone through to find her. Not to mention the worry her grandfather had experienced while she was away, for he had always been overprotective. She had no recollection of how she found her way into the shadows, but well remembered the feeling of utter hopelessness when she realized she was lost. For Legolas to have willingly come after her had been a terrible gamble on his part, one which could have cost him his life.

"He will recover, and so will you," her grandfather said as he released her hand and stood. "I should wake him and send him to his own chamber."

The thought of losing Legolas, even for a moment, reminded her too much of the dark place for contemplation. "Please, no. Let us stay together for just a little while longer. I cannot bear to let him go."

"Judging by the way he is gripping your fingers, I am sure the same is true for him as well," her grandfather relented with an indulgent smile. "You need to eat, and drink. You have wasted away during your illness." She started to argue, but he silenced her by placing his hand atop her head and smoothing her hair back with his thumb. "Do as I say, sweetling."

Ever had she hated to disappoint him, so she nodded obediently. "I will."

He gave a satisfied nod as he patted her head before standing and turning toward the door. "I will have something prepared for you. Arwen, Aragorn, and Elrohir will be eager to see you as well. And the children ask about you every time I see them." The door closed quietly behind him.

For a long, quiet moment Isilmei stared at Legolas's face in effort to recommit every line and angle to memory. She watched his velvety eyes blink sleepily as the haze of slumber cleared. She smiled at him, and when he realized that she was awake he gasped and sat up with a start.

"Isil! Tell me this is not a dream. Tell me that you have returned to me." He pressed her hand to his lips, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

She laughed, squeezing his fingers with her own as she smiled at him. "You saved us, my brave love. I am so grateful."

He kissed her hand again before turning it over and nuzzling his face into her palm.

"How are you here, Legolas?" It was all so confusing. There was so much she _almost_ remembered, but could not understand. "Caldor said that you were killed. How…"

He took one hand from hers and gently pressed his fingers against her lips to quiet her. "It was a terrible misunderstanding, Isil. Caldor was mistaken. I am fine." His fingers turned to caress her cheek as pain flashed through his expression. "It is _you_ we almost lost."

"I love you," she whispered as tears slid down her face. "I am so sorry for the terrible things I said to you."

He shook his head as he listened to her words. "We _both_ said hurtful things that night, love. But our argument _never_ diminished my love for you, or my desire to be with you, or my intention to return to your side. Not for an instant. I am sorry too, for I should have been more understanding of your concerns. And I should not have been so quick to lose my temper." He brushed several soft kisses to her palm and fingers. "And now let us speak of it no more. You are here. We are together. And I vow to you that from this day forward we will not be parted again."

She sniffled as he leaned forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I thought I had lost you," she whispered. The feeling of loss and devastation lingered in her heart, mingling with her relief and joy at seeing him alive into a painful, confusing tangle of emotions.

Legolas shifted so that he sat next to her on the bed and gently cupped her cheeks in his hands. "Never," he whispered as he repeatedly kissed her face. "Never."

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Several days later…_

Legolas leaned back against the arm of the cushioned chaise and tipped his face up to the bright afternoon sun. It was a beautiful, brilliant afternoon, warm with a gentle breeze that kept the heat of the day from becoming uncomfortable. The scents of green and growing things wafted up from the garden to fill the balcony with happy fragrance.

The breeze stirred again, bringing to Legolas's ears distant sounds of the usual hustle and bustle of the court from elsewhere around the Citadel, but an air of peace and serenity surrounded the balcony from which he looked across the garden and past the wall toward towering Mount Mindolluin. It was unusual for him to be so content with inactivity during the middle of the day, but for the moment, he was perfectly happy to let the world spin on without him and the elleth in his arms.

Isilmei slept peacefully against his chest, her delicate body stretched out before him. She was bundled into a robe that was far too warm for this time of year, but she still grew chilled so easily. It was one of the reasons he had lifted her from her bed and brought her out onto the balcony – he felt the warm air and sunshine would be good for her.

In the days since their return from the shadows, Legolas had taken it upon himself to act as her primary caretaker. They would soon be bound to one another officially, he reasoned, so propriety be hanged. In that capacity he had seen to much of her recovery himself, leaving her side only when Arwen brought in several of her ladies and insisted that it would be they and not he who helped Isilmei with a bath. Otherwise, he left her only at night when she was tucked securely into bed and fast asleep.

His intended had made remarkable progress since she awoke, but her stamina was slower to return. He suspected that her grandfather was right – she needed to eat more. Míril had dropped off a basket full of food when she visited earlier in the afternoon, but Isilmei slept so soundly she had yet to partake. He hated to wake her, and she had not stirred when he picked her up and carried her to the balcony before settling them both upon the chaise.

As though aware of his thoughts, Isilmei yawned and shifted in his arms as the haze of sleep cleared from her blue eyes. She squinted in the bright sunlight before her eyes found his face. "Hello," she said as a sleepy smile spread across her generous mouth.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Hello, love." Before he could say another word, her stomach growled and he laughed. "Good. You are hungry. I have a cure for that." He helped Isilmei to a sitting position before reaching behind the chaise to bring out Míril's basket.

Isilmei turned to face him and folded her long legs beneath her, resettling the skirts of her gown and robe about her as he spread out a small cloth between them and pulled a loaf of bread, a small wheel of marbled cheese, and a bowl of bright strawberries from the basket. He noted with satisfaction that she smiled happily as she pulled off a chunk of bread and took a healthy bite.

"There is a plate of honeycakes as well," he told her as he divided the cheese into manageable pieces. "And there is cider. Míril thought of everything."

"She is a dear," Isilmei said. "I am happy to have her friendship."

"She is a good friend to both of us," he agreed as he picked up a bright berry and lifted it to her lips. "You need to eat more than a bit of bread, love." Her eyes sparkled as she willingly parted her lips and sank her teeth into the fruit. It broke unevenly when he lowered his hand, but rather than letting her catch the excess in her fingers, he leaned forward and gently bit off the surplus portion as he kissed her.

A soft sigh escaped her when he finally pulled his lips away from hers. Grinning playfully, she leaned forward to pluck another berry from the bowl and offer it to him. "If you agree to feed me this way," she said, "I will agree to eat more."

His hands slid into her hair as he cupped the back of her head and brought her to his mouth to share the berry and another long, tender kiss. They were both smiling when she leaned away from him. "I think this will be my favorite way to eat from now on," he promised.

"The strawberries taste like sunshine," she said, "and you taste even better."

He reached out to take her right hand and raise it to his lips. Her betrothal ring was still a bit loose, but she had recovered enough that it would once again sit upon her finger without slipping off. He kissed it and raised his eyes to hers. "I do not want to wait any longer, Isil."

"Wait for what?"

"Our binding day. I want to schedule our ceremony for as soon as you are strong enough to stand beside me. I have already written to Adar. Would you mind if I talked to your grandfather?"

The brightest smile he had ever seen graced her lovely face. "Of course not. I think that may be your most brilliant idea yet."

Happiness suffused his heart with warmth as he drank in her radiant expression. Reaching out to recapture her face in his hands, he said, "I am rather proud of it myself."

"You really are something." She was laughing as she raised her lips for his thorough kiss.

TBC…


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37: A Spoiled Surprise and a Wish Granted**

_One hundred years later…_

Light from an early morning sun poured in through the windows in a golden profusion. Outside Ithilien's trees murmured contentedly among themselves while birds sang happy greetings to the new day. Isilmei smiled as she crossed the room on silent feet to retrieve the dressing gown her husband had removed from her shoulders the night before. She smiled as she scooped it off the floor, remembering all too vividly the careless way he had tossed it aside as his passion-filled eyes feasted upon her. Her gaze turned fondly toward the bed, where Legolas lay in languid repose. One bare muscular leg had escaped the linens to be bathed in warm tones by the early morning sun. He lay on his stomach with his arms folded underneath his pillow. His head rested upon the pillow as a look of utter serenity made him look so peaceful, so beautiful.

Knowing he was naked under the blankets caused her to think of returning to the bed, drawing the covers slowly away from him, and recreating the previous evening's encounter. He must have sensed the lustful warmth of her thoughts, for his well-formed lips curved into a smile even before his eyes cleared of sleep's haze.

"I know what you are thinking." His voice was husky.

"I cannot help myself," she replied with a mischievous grin. "I have an irresistible husband."

His grin broadened as he turned on one side and raised himself up on his elbow. "And I have an irresistible wife." He watched her unabashedly as she pulled the floating garment over her shoulders. She felt a sudden flash of concern through their connection as she raised her arms to pull together the ribbons at the gown's neck and secure it about her throat. As she turned toward him, he sat up fully and hung his legs over the side of the bed, extending a hand to beckon her near. "Come here, love."

She crossed the room and took his outstretched hand. He raised her fingers to his lips, kissing her wedding band, as had become his habit. It was a gesture that never failed to warm her heart. She dropped a brief kiss to his forehead as her hands came to rest on his shoulders. Before she could ask what had so suddenly come to worry him, his thighs parted and with both hands on her hips he tugged her closer. His hands began a gentle examination of her body, parting the folds of her robe to slide around her waist, over her hips, and up her sides. One hand came to rest against the small of her back while the other rose to lift the swell of one breast.

"Legolas," she giggled, "I thought you had an early council meeting…"

"Your body is changing, Isil," he said gravely as worry lined his perfect face. "Why?"

She could not stifle a wave of frustration fast enough to keep him from sensing it. In effort to soften the frown that darkened his face, she squeezed his shoulders and bent her head to kiss his lips. "Your keen eye for detail has robbed me of your surprise."

"What surprise?" Confusion joined the worry clouding his eyes.

"Give me your hand and I will show you." She pressed a hand against her still-flat stomach in search of the slight thickening that was growing within her. She took his hand and placed it on top of hers. "Press your fingers here," she instructed as she removed her hand so that his fingers rested against her bare skin. "Do you feel that?"

He drew in a sharp breath as his eyes grew wide and flew to meet hers. "Our wish was granted. We are going to have…" His words failed him as he gazed at her in wonder.

She nodded as tears of happiness pricked the backs of her eyelids.

"Of our very own." His whisper was awe-struck as he spread his fingers to cover her belly with his broad, warm hand. His face tilted up, and she happily met his lips to share a deep, loving kiss. "How long have you known?"

"I began to suspect several days ago, but I was not sure until I confirmed my diagnosis with the midwife yesterday," she told him, understanding that a large portion of his concern stemmed from the fact that he had not detected the suspicions and flaring hope she had sought to suppress from their bond. "I wanted to find a special way to tell you. I wanted it to be a _surprise_."

He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time, his gaze full of wonder and tenderness. "Just when I think I cannot possibly love you more, you amaze me anew."

She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him against her, resting her cheek on top of his head. His arms surrounded her waist and held her close. After a long moment of contended silence, he pulled her gently down to lay beside him on the bed. As he stretched out the warm length of his body next to her, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her temple.

"I wonder if we shall have a son or a daughter," he mused as he spread his fingers over her stomach.

As she admired the contrast of their skin tones while tracing his hand on her abdomen – his a light golden tan against her pale ivory – she smiled, for it was a question she had thought about many times in recent days. "It is too early to say, but I believe we shall have a son."

He shook his head and gave her a dreamy grin as he stroked her face. "I hope for a daughter, with your laugh and your smile and your sweetness."

"And I hope for a son," she countered as she ran her fingers down his chest, "with your eyes and your strength and your integrity."

A mischievous gleam lit his face. "Perhaps we shall have twins."

"Do not jest," she admonished with a playful poke at his ribs. "You are not the one who must carry them!"

"You will manage it brilliantly. Of that I have no doubt," he assured her as he began a delicate exploration of her skin that was sure to make them both late for the day's obligations.

She was content to lie within her husband's embrace, letting the joy he suffused into their bond overpower the doubts that had nagged her since she learned of her condition. The prospect of labor was intimidating, but with the love and strength of her husband to support her, she was confident that all would be well.

TBC…


	38. Chapter 38

**Epilogue**

(_Author's Note_: Just a fluffy little snippet to set up some events unfolding in the sequel. Details at the end of this scene for anyone who might be interested.)

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_A dozen years later…_

Exhaustion weighted his limbs and slowed his movements as Legolas quietly entered the lord's residence. All was dark as he expected when he stepped into the main living area. His family should be resting peacefully by this late hour. As he closed the door behind himself and turned to make his way toward his bedchamber, he noticed a thin strip of light pouring out from underneath the chamber door.

He frowned as feet well accustomed to the placement of every stick of furniture within the family's quarters carried him assuredly toward the light. It worried him that his wife was routinely the first one up every morning even when she had waited up to greet him when his duties kept him out late. Her days were long as she managed the healing wards, aided him in his duties, kept their home, and took care of their energetic elfling. He worried – in spite of her repeated entreaties for him to stop – that she would one day exceed the limits of her endurance.

He carefully pushed open the carved wooden door and peeked inside to see if she was sleeping. A cheery fire blazed in the hearth and Isilmei smiled at him from the bed. She reclined against the headboard with her knees bent in front of her. A book was propped open against her thighs. She wore a long-sleeved nightdress of palest green; her heavy curtain of silver-blonde hair unbound and pulled over one shoulder to spill down her chest.

Next to her on the bed lay their sleeping son. Belion was stretched out on his stomach, his face tucked into the side of his mother's leg and the shoulder-length, golden hair he had inherited from his father spread out beside him. His mother had pulled a light blanket about their legs and absently ran one hand through his locks as he slept.

Legolas felt her love and concern wrap around his heart like a warm, inviting blanket on cold winter's eve. With a deep sigh he allowed the day's responsibilities to fall from his shoulders as he looked at the peaceful picture his wife and son presented.

"Welcome home, love," she whispered. "You look exhausted."

"I am," Legolas admitted as removed his robe of office before sitting on the end of a chaise to remove his boots. He took off his circlet and put it on her dressing table before pulling his tunic off over his head and dropping it unceremoniously on the lounge. He nodded toward their elfling. "Why is he not in his bed? Did something happen?"

"He insisted that his ada would read him his bedtime story tonight and would accept no substitutes," she said with a fond smile. "He begged to be allowed to wait here with me until you came home." She lifted one slim hand to point at the table next to the lounge he was sitting upon. "We saved you some supper, but if you do not want it I can make you something else."

He raised a hand to stay her. "I am sure it is fine, love, thank you. What I want more than anything else right now," he said as he rose to cross to the bed and climb carefully upon it to avoid disturbing their son, "is to be with the two of you."

She closed her book and set it on the nightstand as he stretched himself out next to Belion. With their son sleeping between them, Isilmei shifted gently so that she could use both hands to release and unwind Legolas's braid. She lightly massaged his scalp as she combed his hair with her fingers, and he felt his cares melt away under her gentle ministrations. He had a husband's pride in everything his wife did, of course, but he felt that this was where she truly excelled – in creating a _home_. In turning a few rooms and some shared possessions into the safe-haven he craved in stressful moments, into the place where his heart truly lived, this home that he shared with the two beings he loved almost more than he could bear.

Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "We knew this would be a busy day, but you were gone far longer than you expected. Do you want to talk about it? Is everything all right?"

"All is well, my sweet Isil." He smiled as he captured her right hand and kissed her wedding band. She caressed the side of his face with her fingers as she smiled at him tenderly.

He looked down at Belion. "It amazes me that he still lets us read to him."

"He is getting so big," she sighed. "These days will not last much longer, I fear, for he is rapidly coming to that stage when he will find bedtime stories and cuddling with his parents unacceptable."

Her hand had come to rest on Belion's small back, a back which was not nearly as small as it used to be, Legolas realized. Their young one was not a baby any longer, as Belion was quick to point out whenever he felt the adults in his life failed to credit him with a proper degree of maturity. Legolas covered her hand with his own. "Then we shall treasure these days for as long as we have them."

She smiled a bittersweet smile at him, her heart in her eyes.

He allowed his gaze to wander over her face, thinking her even more beautiful now than she was the day he bound himself to her, when he remembered a moment from earlier in the afternoon. "Tell me about your day. Something good happened."

A flash of wariness flickered across her expression before she could cover it. "It was routine. This morning Belion and I worked on his lessons, and then we had lunch with Míril and Duvainil and their broods. He stayed with them this afternoon while I went to the Houses of Healing."

Legolas felt his forehead wrinkle in puzzlement. "But something made you happy today. I could feel it. Orophin noticed it too, because the feeling was so strong that my attention wandered in the middle of a conversation with the foresters."

"I am sorry that I disturbed your work." She dropped her gaze to the sleeping elfling between them, but he knew instinctively that her gesture was not out of regret. It was out of some hesitancy to answer him directly, which pricked his curiosity even as it worried him.

"Isil?"

A smile began to work its way across her lips, but she tried one more time to stall him. "You are tired, Legolas. I can share my news later. You should eat something and rest."

"Tell me, love."

Her smile was growing and he began to feel a warmth in his heart at the glow upon her face. Her excitement infused their bond with energy even as she casually resumed stroking Belion's hair. "Well, I had planned on _surprising_ you with this news later, but it seems I am no good at surprises."

With a start he remembered the last time she had told him she wanted to surprise him. Could it be as he hoped? "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that our little one here is…" both of her brows lifted in anticipation as she paused and raised her eyes to his "…soon to have a sibling."

He was smiling as he reached for her, barely managing to contain his enthusiasm enough to avoid jostling their son. "Ai, love," he whispered as he planted kisses all over her face. She laughed happily as she accepted his affection. "What wonderful news. I love you so much."

She took his face in both of her hands and gently pulled him to her lips. His love and desire for his mate coursed through him and flowed into their bond as he kissed her. "And we love you," she whispered between kisses. "All of us."

"Ada," said a small, sleepy voice between them, "why are you always kissing Nana?"

They both laughed at the exasperated look in the blue eye that peered up at them. Belion covered his face with his hand so he would not have to look at the kissing.

"Because I love her, son."

"I love her too, but I do not have to _kiss_ her all the time." He rolled over onto his back and looked at his mother with eyes that were mirror images of her own. "Did you tell him, Nana?"

"I did."

"So _that_ is why he was kissing you," he said with tired patience, "because we are going to have an _elfling_." His tone revealed that he was less than impressed by the impending expansion of their family.

Legolas chuckled at his son's logic. "Yes, Belion. Do you think we will have a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"But we already have a boy," Isilmei said as she tapped her index finger against the end of Belion's nose. "I would like to have a girl. Otherwise, I will be outnumbered in the House of Legolas."

"It has to be a boy," Belion said with great insistence.

"And why is that, little one?" Legolas asked.

His little nose wrinkled to display his disgust. "Because Calenor says girls are nothing but trouble."

Legolas saw the outraged look Isilmei feigned as she listened to their son's words, but knew as well as she did that the sibling rivalry between Orophin and Míril's son and daughter was likely to be short-lived. "But I am a _girl_," Isilmei protested. "Does that mean that you think…"

"You are my _nana_. You are different." Belion answered as if that explained everything.

"Look, Nana, I see something," Legolas said with a mischievous wink to his mate as he bent over their son and studied him closely.

"What is it?" Her amusement sparkled like sunshine on the Anduin through their bond, filling him with warmth.

"There is a…a _spot_ right there. Do you see it?"

The elfling began to squirm underneath his parents' scrutiny.

"That one right there?" A wide smile full of glee lit her lovely face as she pointed to Belion's stomach.

"Yes," Legolas said with an answering grin. "And there is another one, on the other side. What should we do about them?"

Belion was screeching in laughter before they had even begun to tickle his sides. Before long, it turned into a three-way contest as each of them sought the advantage.

Later on, Legolas held his wife and son in his arms and realized that his exhaustion had fallen away within the warm, loving heart of his family. He felt renewed and refreshed, and surrounded by so much love. He gently stroked his wife's belly and looked forward with eager anticipation to meeting the little one growing within her.

FIN

~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~~.~.~.~

_Author's Note_: A giant thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to read, and/or review, and/or follow, and/or favorite this story. I am grateful that you have been willing to give a little of your time and attention to my little fiction. It has been my sincere joy to correspond with some wonderful folks during the telling of this tale.

The site realelvish 'dot' net has been an invaluable resource for names and other fun stuff. Thanks to Certh for the site referral and advice on all things JRRT! Thanks to Aranel Mereneth for chatting about all things Thranduil. And thanks to Diana for beta-reading and for putting up with me. Like, a _lot_. For a really long time. It's a big task, is what I'm saying.

As promised, Haldir's story will resume in _Gentle, Dangerous, Dreamlike, Bare_. He's been released from the Halls of Waiting for his consistently good works and will meet friends old and new as he adjusts to life in the Blessed Realm.

~ A.W.


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